Will and Fate
by Jeremy
Summary: The story of a man whose fate is entwined with the world of the World Warriors
1. Prologue

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Prologue  
  
June 1981  
  
Jonathan Storm was dying. He knew it, his brother knew it and his sister-in-law knew it. It had taken all of his remaining strength to crawl and stagger to his brother's house. It was a wonder he made it at all: his ribs were pretty much caved in, his head was blue, bloody, and deformed by horrid bruises, and one could only guess how many fractures and contusions were wound about his arms and legs. As it was, he had collapsed on the front porch, the thudding of his body hitting the floor alerting the occupants of the house. And now, as the evening deepened into night, he was feeling his strength giving way to what lay beyond, on the other side. Yet his right eye, the one still whole, still burned with vitality but also with something else....eagerness.  
  
"I'm...cough....sorry, Matt." he told his older brother, who was sitting, grieving and angry, at his brother's side. "I wish it...hack...cough...it could have gone otherwise."  
  
Mattew half-growled, his grief apparent. "You stupid moron! Why didn't you let me help you? We could have taken them! Hell, I could have taken them! Why, dammit, WHY!?" The rebuke didn't have much strength, as the elder of the Storm brothers choked repeatedly. His wife, seated nearby, didn't say a word, just wept silently. Jonathan started to shake his head, but the pain forced him to lie still.  
  
Instead he said. "You know why. If you hadn't, you never would've let me take my shot at those monsters. I....cough, cough...I had to do it...for...hack...f-for her." His good eye started to glaze. "M-M-Matt!"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"My k-k-kid...cough...you'll t-take care o-of...him, huh?" His voice was failing, his vision started to dim. Mattew's tears, which he had been desperately trying to hold, were now loose. He didn't notice them, just started to clutch at his brother's forearm, afraid to let him go.  
  
"You know that. We'll take him with us, won't we love?." he choked. He asked the last statement to his wife, but didn't notice her nod, keeping his gaze on the dying man before him.  
  
Jonathan smiled. "Knew that...train him good, you know...he's not like me....h-he's got Amelia's....cough....s-s-skill...inside...t-t-tell him...." And then the whisper that was Jonathan's voice died, his body shook one last time.  
  
And then...he was gone.  
  
"Oh, no." wept Samantha, Mattew's wife. Her husband only looked at his brother's still face, still clutching the rapidly cooling forearm.  
  
"I will, you damned softie." he sobbed. Then his tear-streaked face took on a most determined mien. "That and more." he vowed.  
  
* * * * *  
Two Hours later...  
  
This can't be happening. Its a nightmare, its got to be! shrieked Samantha mentally as the last police car rolled out of the alley. She couldn't take it. Ever since she had come to know the proud but good-intentioned Mattew Storm, she'd also known the shy and kind Jonathan. The younger man had welcomed her with open arms, as had his wife. When she'd first met the other couple, she'd been surprised that such an impressive and aggressive woman like Amelia Wang had come to fall in love with such a timid and reserved - althought undeniably good-looking - man. Watching them together was like watching fire and ice coexist. But, as she became part of the family, she came to understand the situation better. Unlike Mattew, who followed the family tradition of training and street fighting in earnest, Jonathan was less skilled and reluctant in battle. But behind this reluctance was a young man who was sure of himself and his limits, as well as an undying optimism that he could use to lift up the spirits of all near him. After seeing these qualities, Samantha understood that Amelia loved her husband because of this honest way he saw himself. Just like she came to love Mattew for his dry sense of humor and his hidden - but ever-present - gentleness.  
  
But the happiness they all enjoyed - including the birth of a boy to each couple - came crashing down two years before. Returning from some evening shopping, Amelia was attacked by a small gang of four hoodlums. Having given birth only one month beforehand, she was too weak to defend herself as she knew how, and was mugged, severely beaten and raped consecutively. Her weakened body was unable to take the strain of the punishment, and she died one week later at the hospital.  
  
And just a few hours ago, her husband had suffered the same final fate after giving in to the burning desire of revenge.  
  
And now...  
  
Samantha felt as if she'd been struck by lightning, as she remembered the look on Mattew's face when his brother died. She had been seeing it on Jonathan's for the past two years. Forgetting to close the door, she ran up the stairs and to the door of the bedroom she and Mattew shared. He was there all right. He was now wearing black sport pants and a black t-shirt, and had put black fighting gloves. It was an outfit he hadn't worn for four years, ever since he had officially put street fights behind when he married her. She immediately knew what was up.  
  
"No." she said. Mattew turned to face her, flexing his hands, warming up to what he was about to do. His face was hard and unreadable.  
  
"I can't fully grieve for him while those guys are still around." was all he said. He moved to the door. Samantha blocked it defiantly. His tall, muscular frame loomed over her, but she certainly wasn't going to let details like greater height, bulk, and strength change her mind. Mattew saw this and sighed. "Just let me pass, love. You know that you can't stop me. You can force me to stay tonight, but not always."  
  
She crossed her arms over her chest, her grieving face scowling. "No. You're not getting beat up for him. I don't want and you know he wouldn't either."  
  
"Yeah. I do know that. I also know John never went down before giving a pretty good account of himself. Those fiends are probably pretty beat up, no match for me. I probably won't break a sweat." His voice became colder. "Now let me pass." she didn't budge. "Fine, then." His arm suddenly came up and struck her in the solar plexus. It was a very restrained shot: just enought to make her step back, not hurting her at all. He moved toward the stairs, determined and harsh. Samantha shivered. She never in all their time together seen him so cold, even in a fight.  
  
"What about your parents? And Tommy and Jeremy?" she asked, desperate.  
  
Mattew stopped at the middle of the stairs and half-turned. "They're all at father's house, right? Talk to father and tell him the news. Tell him I'm finishing John's business. He'll understand." He resumed to ward the front door. Samantha knew then that she had no argument that could make him stop, so she shouted "Don't you dare come here bruised, or you'll be sleeping on the couch for the next three years!"  
  
He stopped. Turned. Looked up at her. And smiled grimly, his face still cold.  
  
"Deal." he said.  
  
Then he was gone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
One hour later...  
  
Never let anger cloud your judgement. Let your mind be clear. Focus on the task and not on the reason for the task. Let your mind be clear. See behind the hate and the violence. Let your mind be clear.  
  
This little prayer/speech, given by Robert Storm to his two sons years ago, kept his oldest from charging in when, slinking about near what he knew was on of the gang's hideout, he heard voices and groans that belonged to - he had few doubts - the guys he was looking for. His fists clenched in anticipation. He could do nothing about the pain he felt, couldn't bring his brother - or Amelia - back, but he could do this. Something at the back of his head told him that this felt good, to be back on the street, looking for a fight, just like when he was younger. He pushed it away. He was looking for a fight, true, but not for fun or to better himself. He came because, simply, he wanted to hurt those guys. Badly.   
  
The voices came from inside a warehouse, he opened the door and saw four guys, rather built up - and rather bruised - talking. Waiting, he listened to them for a moment.  
  
"Told ya that guy was trouble!"  
  
"Yeah, but we fix'him good. Won't be coming back, I be sure."  
  
"Little punk, barging in like that. What'd we do da him?"  
  
"Gee, dunno. Maybe we messed up someone he knew. He sure messed us up."  
  
"Won't be messing with anyone 'gain, I be sure."  
  
Hoarse laughter eachoed throught the warehouse. It stopped as the four noticed that an uninvited guest had made an appearance on them. Mattew was standing less than five meters from the group, his fists clenched, his face a study of cold and contained fury. One of the ruffians sized him up. That particular bandit was large, larger than Mattew, and was less beaten up than the others. He stepped toward the black-clothed man.  
  
"Wa, look here. Another punk, I be sure!" he said. "What ya want, punk?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"Maybe the guy's deaf!" laughed one of the four. The biggest looked at Mattew. "That right punk?"  
  
No answer. Just cold, furious silence.  
  
The bandits were getting worried, and more than little angry. The biggest finally stepped decicively towards Mattew. "Look, punk, you either gonna say somethin', or else."  
  
"Else." said Mattew. And before the big man could react, he launched himself into the air. Tapping into his chi, he jumped nearly ten feet, flipped gracefully, pointed one of his feet toward the bewildered giant and uttered "Eagle Strike!" He immediately sped down and delivered a ramming kick amplified by his focused chi. The man received square in the chest, went flying backward. He was uncouncious long before he hit the floor. Mattew, landing easily, assumed a fighting stance and charged the remaining bandits.  
  
Unlike Jonathan, he was exceptionally gifted as a fighter. Unlike Jonathan, he was able to fully utilize the techniques of their father. Unlike Jonathan, he didn't believe in holding back. Thus, the three already weakened bandits found themselves in a definite no-win situation.  
  
One attempted to punch him. He blocked, caught the arm, and punched the guy in the throat with all of his strength. The guy went down, gagging, retching, his breathing just about cut off.   
  
The two others had more style and better defenses. One attacked while the other tried to catch Mattew unaware. That being the oldest trick in the book, the former street fighter was unimpressed. He finally caught one with a roundhouse kick followed by a vicious uppercut. The guy staggered, dazed but not out. Fighing off the other hoodlum, Mattew finished him a drop-kick to the side of the neck. The guy dropped like a stone.  
  
With three down, the other was child's play. A few well-placed punches, and he was out cold. Looking around, he saw that the man who had been hit in the throat had recovered. Mattew walked up to him. Scowling with fury, he picked the man up and banged him against the wall. Still dazed, the man could do nothing else but whimper.  
  
"Now you listen," hissed Mattew furiously. "The only reason you won't die tonight is because the guy you beat up - my brother - wouldn't want me to become a murderer. So I'l let you go this time." He tightened his hold on the gasping hoodlum. "But I want you out of this region. If I ever, EVER hear about you again, I'll come after you. And no one will save you then. Understand?" The bandit just bobbed his head wildly. Mattew dropped him, looking down at him with hatred and disgust. "And I want you out of town tomorrow." He then left the warehouse feeling filthy but glad to have been able to hold on to his family's principles.  
  
Needless to say, he never heard about that gang again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Four days later...  
  
The funeral had been simple, with only the immediate family and a few close friends attending. It had been hard, letting go of this kind man. Everyone had cried, even other fighters that had come. After all, if Jonathan wasn't the best of fighters, he was certainly the most liked, and had made himself a reputation by it.  
  
The only ones not affected by the funeral was Thomas and Jeremy, the sons of the brothers. Being three and two years old respectively, the little boys had no real idea what was happening, didn't know Jonathan wasn't coming back. No, they were up and around, chasing each other and forgetting, in that way that children have, that this was supposed to be a serious moment. Many of their parents and other guests envied them for that. Mattew and their grand-father were among those.  
  
The elder man, stooped by age but retaining the strength of his past, looked at Jeremy with a sad look. Here was a child who would never know his parents, who would never truly understand what had happened to drive his father to forfeit his own life and abandon his son. Robert was feeling too old for these tragedies, far too old. If only Sophie and he had died before this, burying one of their sons.   
  
Fighters thought that nothing could outrank the mental shock of a street fight. What fools. Robert had long known there was far worse than that. He had seen it when his own parents died, when Amelia died and, worst to him, when Jonathan died.   
  
He turned to his other son, started to talk, but stopped. Oh please, God. he thought frantically in his grief. Don't let me live to bury him too. I couldn't bear it! Sophie couldn't bear it! I would have preferred to die a thousand times than go through this day.  
  
Mattew felt his father's gaze and looked at him. "How is mother?" he asked.  
  
"She lives." said Robert simply, not wishing to say more. Nor did he need to; His tone told the story on how hard it was to the elder woman. "You will take Jeremy."  
  
"It goes without saying." stated the younger man. "And, as John asked, I'll train him too."  
  
Robert looked at his son in surprised. "He asked that?" he said incredulously.  
  
Mattew nodded, passing an hand throught his raven-black hair. "He said he had Amelia's ability. How he could tell, beats me completely."  
  
"Jonathan was seldom wrong when he gauged people." remarked Robert sadly.  
  
"But is he right, this time?"  
  
Robert looked at his grandsons. Tommy was playing tag with Jeremy and the other children. He looked at little Jeremy. So smiling, so kind. So like his father already. Was there truly an equivalent of Amelia beneath this facade?  
  
"You'll find out soon enough." said the eldest Storm.  
  
_______________________________________________________________________  
All right! Before anyone starts throwing punches, I want to assure everyone that this fic is indeed about Street Fighter. Although they won't be present in the beginning, some of the fighters we all know will appear and some will become incredibly important (enough said! :) )  
  
I'd say the synopsis would go something like that: Growing up as a street fighter...  
  
Let all tell me what they think at ledar10@hotmail.com  
  
Thank you! 


	2. Chapter 1

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 1  
  
September 1987  
  
"Jer, wake up." said a young voice.  
  
From the bundle of bed sheets that piled over an unfortunate pillow came a very very sleepy and widely incoherent mumble. Aside from that, no stir could be detected.  
  
"Come on, Jer. We gotta go!" stated the same voice, this time sounding impatient.  
  
"Go 'way..." was the sleepy retort. A moment passed. Then, one listening in would have heard a drastic intake of breath. Then...  
  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!" was the bloodcurdling scream uttered.  
  
Jeremy Storm, eight years old, bolted out of his bed with the energy of youth compounded by surprise and fright. So panicky was he that he nearly decked the one responsible for his thoroughly improper wake-up call. Angry grey eyes met amused and satisfied black ones and held them fast.  
  
"Tom...you...you..." blurted Jeremy at a complete loss, trying to find sufficiently hurtful words to assuage the excitation and anger he was feeling.   
  
Thomas Storm was, for his part at least, completely at ease. With black hair and eyes, he was a far younger image of his father, with the soft cheeks and nose of his mother. At nine, he was already taller than many of those two years his senior, and had a natural strong built. Jeremy was far different. Of average height, his face and general physical disposition reminded those around him not so much of his parents but rather his paternal grandfather, who had the same kind of grey eyes and, when younger, possessing the peculiar shade of brown - slightly coppery - hair. The two were cousins but, as they had been together for as long as they could remember, they considered themselves brothers, a youthful attitude that they defended, althought no one around had any problem with their conception of brotherhood. Since he was slightly older - after all, ten months of age difference seems like forever for children that age - Thomas usually tried to look and act like a big brother, an attitude that always seemed so much important since Jeremy started showing the mild-mannered aspects of his deceased father.  
  
Presently, however, the younger Storm boy was anything but mild-mannered. In fact, he was very close to strangling Tom with his own hands. This did not escape the would-be victim, who only smirked and pinched the nose of his younger family member.   
  
"I knew you'd get outta bed with that!" he sing-song.  
  
"I would have woke anyway, Tommy!" half-snarled Jeremy, rubbing his eyes and streching wearily. Already the fire that was in his eyes was dying off. Jeremy, unlike Tom, was never able to be angry very long, if at all. It was one of the reasons the room the two shared hadn't degenarated into a perpetual battlefield. "Next time, please don't shout." he grumbled.  
  
"Aw, fussy boy."  
  
"Don't say that!!"  
  
"FUSSY BOY!"  
  
"Tom!"  
  
Tom went away laughing, Jeremy right on his heels, the two making a ruckus equivalent to twenty people instead of two. 'Fussy boy' was the fond nickname Mattew had given Jeremy after the youngster's late-sleeping habit. Shortly therafter, Thomas had adopted it for his own uses, the greatest of which was teasing. Thus, Jeremy always took the nickname with good grace when it came from his uncle, but was extremely annoyed when it came from his oh so irrepressible cousin.  
  
The boys' cat-and-mouse chase led them to their usual morning destination: the bathroom. The door was closed, such that Tom flung it open with energy. What the two entering misfits first noticed was that the door had stopped before hitting the wall as it usually did. Both boys peered behind it, blinked, then rushed to the door.  
  
"DAAD! MOM'S NAKED AGAIN!!" bellowed Tom from the top of the stairs. A moment of silence followed, then a deeper voice rose from below.  
  
"So, has she gained any weight?" deadpanned Mattew. An outraged muttering brewed in the bathroom.  
  
"Nah. But, like all girls, its gross." responded Jeremy, shaking his head. The all-encompassing tone of youthful wisdom he took changed the mutterings into chuckles and started a round of laughter from below. The two sounds lasted long enough so that both children looked at each other with the resignation that said "adults are crazy. I always knew it." With a slight harrumph, Jeremy went back to the bathroom, this time ignoring her aunt, who was busy dressing up. He shook his head. Girls were strange. They always drew bad pictures, giving them away as if they actually were works of arts. They also were whiners, completely unable to take a hit from someone without crying - something the two cousins looked at with boyish disdain. And worst of all, the worst worst worst of the worst worst worst: they had the insane idea that it was right for boys and girls to kiss, and they tried that very act far too often for Jeremy, who happened to be one of the targets. Well, at least it was on the cheek and not on the mouth. He'd die from disgust if it was on the mouth. He already had enought problems not gagging when Uncle Mattew and Aunt Samantha did just that, far too often. But then, they were adults and every kid knew adults were weird. The thought that he might actually kiss a girl one day. Willingly, at that! He made a face of revulsion.  
  
"Yeah. I knew you were ugly." teased Tom, who had come back inside the room by then. Jeremy shot him a look.  
  
"Well you're more ugly." he retorted.  
  
"I am not!"  
  
"You are too."  
  
"AM NOT!"  
  
"ARE TOO!"  
  
"NOT!!!!"  
  
"TOO!!!!"  
  
This scene migh have continued while, if Samantha hadn't stepped in - dressed at last - and stopped it with a simple declarative sentence.  
  
"If this keeps up, you'll be late for your bus, chimpmunks!" she said.  
  
The two little boys, reluctantly agreeing, left the verbal battle at that, but silent looks told it would resume in the bus - in full force.  
  
* * * * *  
  
One Hour later...  
  
Ten minutes after the two young whirldwinds named Jeremy and Thomas had dashed to their bus, the older, more mature occupants of the Storm husehold were relaxing a little before beginning their own workday. Samantha was drinking a cup of coffee while her husband was simply sitting, eyes closed, across the table from her. There were some dirty dishes to be done, and other miniature chores, but neither seemed to hasty to start at them. So a silence stretched on, interrupted by Samantha's careful sips, the occasional creak of woodwork in the house, and the faint melody of the outside world.  
  
At length, however, the penetrating silence was broken.   
  
"What did you mean by 'has she gained any weight'?" the lady of the house asked pointedly.  
  
Althought his eyes remained closed, Mattew grinned slightly. "I was wondering how long it would take before you'd ask me that."  
  
"Well?!"  
  
"Well what?"  
  
Brushing aside the idea of hitting her husband with the coffee pot, she decided to simply press on. "What did you mean by 'has she gained any weight'?!"  
  
"Have you?"  
  
"Are you calling me fat?!?" This time there was an hint of menace that the meditating man did not miss. He opened his eyes and smiled, his expression one of placid amusement. Samantha wasn't fooled. She could read him very well, and what she saw had mischief written all over it.  
  
"You said that, not me. As for me, I'll say no, I don't think you're fat. Not at all in fact."  
  
She nodded but said nothing. It was a compliment, all right. But one that could be interpreted in different ways, some of them less good than others. Then again, this was his way of complimenting someone, student, child or even wife. Then something unexpected come.  
  
"Next time you take your shower before the boys wake up, tell me. I'll come and oogle you and do you full justice." It was said as placidly as anything Mattew usually said, but with a look in his eyes that spoke of some very intimate things.  
  
Samantha smiled sweetly. "Why, thank you, love. Just remember that it was those thoughts that got us a little ball of energy called Thomas." She got a little more serious. "Do you think they'll be alright at their new school?"  
  
"That school has a good reputation. I see no problems on the horizon." he stated.  
  
But she shook her head. "You didn't get my meaning...I meant do you think they'll make friends? They never did make real friends before."  
  
Mattew tried to come up with words that might assuage her fears. "They have each other and because of that, they think little of those around them. But they'll find friends eventually. Who knows? Maybe today."  
  
"Aren't you optimistic."  
  
He sighed. "I have to be. Because there's little we can do there for them, except to hope for the best. Things will happen as they will. We can neither force them nor prevent them."  
  
There was silence for quite a while after that.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Greenway School. So that's what it looks like."  
  
"Well, its bigger than the old one, at least."  
  
It was only the truth that the two boys spoke. Greenway School was a three-storied, large main building of red brick connected to a smaller one of the same relative make, which definitely seemed newer. Surrounding it was a small park and amusement fields surrounded by a fence. A big, typical school. And like all such schools, it was packed with kids, walked about by a few exhausted adults and, as this was before class, filled with enough noise to render anyone deaf.  
  
The two boys liked it immediately.  
  
They walked silently side by side, avoiding multiple collisions with over-eager children and objects that went astray. The vibrant air and the cloudless sky soon put them into really a great mood.  
  
"So, what's the class you got again?" asked Tom excitedly. "304? 306?"  
  
"306, yeah. You its 309, huh? You know, I hope I'll get a nicer teacher than the last one."  
  
"Aww, he wasn't that bad." said the larger Storm, who had been in the same class.  
  
"What? He was smelly, ugly, bad and...well... " he stopped as he heard a voice wailing near him.   
  
"Waaa! Why did you squash...sob... my lunch?!?!"  
  
Both youths turned their attention to the scene that was being played out near them. A student, bigger even than Tom, was standing with a sick superior smile and a foot in the middle of a squishy amalgam of paper, plastic, juice and foodstuff that had once been a lunch bag. The one in front of him was a tiny, tiny blond haired-girl in pink and white uniform. She was the one wailing. Beside her was a boy who was being held back by two others, who seemed to be with the biggest runt. The little girl, however, seemed to be standing her ground. Jeremy looked around and saw that few students were in the area, and those that were were keeping to themselves. He hated those that stayed inactive, watching something that was plainly wrong without lifting a finger. He walked up to the two who were holding back another boy, and gave thjem both a shove from behind. They fell in surprise, letting go of their captive. The biggest of the boys scowled. Jeremy wasn't impressed by him at all. He returned the stare evenly.  
  
"And he was about as stupid as this guy!" he said to Thomas, who had come up behind.  
  
"You really hated that teacher, huh?" joked Thomas. "I say this guy is worst. And he smells as bad as a donkey, too!" He gave the biggest guy an unfriendly look, balling his fists. The boy who had been freed came to the side of the little girl, giving the bigger youth a withering glare.  
  
"You're just a big coward, Ian. Now go before we go get the teacher!"  
  
The threat about the teacher worked. The big boy backed down reluctantly. He gave the two brothers a furious look, which was returned full force.  
  
"I'll get you for that." he warned in the voice of someone who had always used violence to get what he wanted.  
  
"Anytime, fatso!" said Tom with a cold smile.  
  
"Yeah." said Jeremy.  
  
The boy named Ian and his two underlings went away, glancing behind them blackly. The four kids that stayed behind soon forgot about his less-than-savory presence. The little girl was still sobbing over the smashed lunch bag while the other boy tried to calm her down. The Storms just looked on uncomfortably.  
  
"Sniffle...mom's gonna be mad at me." she wailed  
  
"No. She won't if I go with you to tell her its their fault." said the other boy.  
  
The little girl looked at him with hope. "Will you?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess so."  
  
The girl suddenly hugged the boy at that, making the Storms' uncomfort much more present. The other wasn't feeling to good about that either, or so it seemed.  
  
"Oh thank you, Nate! Thank you!" she said.  
  
"Hey, come on! We're friends! We've always been friends!" said 'Nate' as a way of explaining his actions.  
  
"Err..." started Thomas.  
  
"Oh! Sorry, I forgot about that! Are you guys new here?"  
  
Jeremy and Thomas looked at each other in surprise. This, somehow, wasn't what they had been expecting from the two they had just helped.   
  
"Hey, next time you...ow!" said Thomas, stopped by Jeremy's elbow. The milder cousin gave the bigger one a warning sign, then resumed the conversation himself.  
  
"Why do you want to know if we're new?" he asked far more polite than Thomas had just been.  
  
"Cause you gotta!" exclaimed Nate. "No one in school ever stood up to Ian like that."  
  
Thomas was disbelieving. "Ever?!?"  
  
"Not that I remember. Ian is bad. Like very very very completely bad!"  
  
"Badder than bad." said the girl.  
  
"Bah, they say 'there's a first time for anything', right?" said Jeremy  
  
"I think its 'everything', bro." mused Tom.  
  
"Huh...whatever....I'm Jeremy Storm and this is Thomas Storm. You?"  
  
"I'm Nathan McIntyre - call me Nate, everybody does, - and she's Claudia Levenson. Nice to meet you guys."  
  
"Hi." said Claudia.  
  
"Hey, its nice to meet you too!" said Thomas. "Hey, where are you guys. Classes, I mean?"  
  
"I got 305." said Nate  
  
"306." said Claudia.  
  
"Hey, the same class as me! Cool!" exclaimed Jeremy. He was really starting to look forward to this school after all. At least he wouldn't be alone. Of course, it wasn't as cool with Thomas but still...  
  
"Hmmph! Well, it'll be boring for me." said Thomas. "Especially maths." he shuddered. The three others laughed. Right then, as if on cue, the school bell resounded. They started to walk toward the doors, still talking.  
  
"So, you guys are new here!"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Do you like math, Jeremy?"  
  
"Hummm..."   
  
"Hey, since you're new, let me show you the best spot to eat lunch!"  
  
"Oh, no! My lunch! What will I eat?"  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"..."  
  
"...We'll share, I guess."  
  
Yes, thought Jeremy again as he listened to his new friends, this school might not be that bad at all, with those two around.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A Few Hours later...  
  
The first day of school hadn't gone that bad, after all. Jeremy had sat next to Claudia in class, and had found his new teacher a good deal better than the last one. In the many short conversations he had whispered with Claudia, he had learned that Nate and she knew each other from since they could walk, that Nate's parents were rather weird, but that he was always nice. In fact, she seemed to like to talk about Nate more than anything else, but he found her okay for a girl. The lunch had also been fun, with Nate and Thomas both declaring that the teachers in their classes were stupid, that the classes were dull, that the classes were filled weith people they didn't like - Thomas had one of Ian's two goons - and that, most of all, that Jeremy and Claudia were sooo lucky to be in the same class. Already the two Storms felt they had known the other two for a long time instead of a few hours. It was a unique event for them: most of the time they didn't make friends at all, preferring each other's company. But they didn't mind it now, for Nate and Claudia were cheerful and talkative, and put them both easily at ease.  
  
"Claudia is more than a talker, she's a super talker. I mean she talked to me every chance she got." sighed Jeremy to Tom as the two walked to the bus line.  
  
"Yeah, like you mind." retorted the other with a smirk.  
  
"No, but I think that she could let me talk from time to.."  
  
"Jer." Tom interrupted gravely.  
  
Jeremy stopped and looked at Tom, who was grimly staring ahead. He looked in the same direction and quickly understood why his cousin was suddenly so sober. He grimaced.  
  
"Oh, not those guys." He groaned as he saw Ian and his two goonies coming their way.  
  
"You said it. I won't run. Let the fatso come and fight." was the reply.   
  
The 'fatso' - who was big but not fat - did come to them. There was a glint in his eyes that told of his intentions quite clearly. The other two seemed less eager for a fight, but followed like the sheep that they were. The big boy stopped right in front of the two, cracking his knuckles. It was clearly a move designed to impress but, to those two boys, it seemed pretty pathetic a gesture. Ian saw this, glared at them, and decided that dignity still demanded he bullied them - or at least tried to.  
  
"So" he said in that superior way of his. "Ready to lose you're teeth?"  
  
Tom smiled coldly. "Maybe. Are you?"  
  
Tom and Ian fell on each other, kicking, punching and screaming. Althought the Storm boy fought with hardened ferocity, the bigger Ian used his superior girth and strength to easily gain the upper hand. Jeremy wasn't faring any better, having to fight to boys. These weren't anywhere near Ian's strength, and didn't seem to enjoy the idea of beating others like their leader, but there were two of them. As hard as as he fought, as fast as he punched, he was slowly losing. Eventually, Tom received a pretty cruel kick in the stomach that put him in a precarious situation, and Jeremy was getting beaten up pretty bad by the two goonies. Things were indeed looking grim, and they probably would have been in a much worst state, if someone hadn't stepped in right when things were at their worst.  
  
"Whoa! You there! STOP THAT AT ONCE!" said an adult's voice.  
  
The two goonies immediately relaxed, stepping back and allowing Jeremy, who was at the limits of his strength, to fall flop on his ass. Ian seemed not to have heard, and continued to pounce on the increasingly-panicking Tom. Finally, a large hand caught the bully by the back of the shirt and heaved him off his victim. Ian came face-to-face with a very angry middle-aged teacher.  
  
"I should have known you'd be causing trouble, Ian Deneen! You always have!!" he turned his angry gaze to the other participants of the fight. "As for you, I think you're no better!! Fighting like savages! Come with me to the principal's office. NOW!"  
  
The kids there were tough kids alright, but kids nonetheless. The got up and followed the angry teacher meekly, without a word. The two Storms saw that there were many students around, looking at them.  
  
"These guys must have been here since the fight!" exclaimed Tom.  
  
Jeremy shook his head. "They were here before."  
  
"Why didn't they help?" he snarled more than asked.  
  
"Scared of Ian, I guess. Just like we'll be scared of Auntie and Uncle when they find out."  
  
"Gulp. You shouldn't have said that." grimaced Tom nervously.  
  
"I know..."  
  
It seemed that this day wouldn't be that good after all.   
  
* * * * *  
  
Two Hours later...  
  
"Pathetic. Childish. Useless. Dim-witted. These are a few of the milder words are can think of your brawl. I am extremely disappointed in the both of you." Mattew ennumerated quietly when they had come back home. His words were soft and even, but his words so full of venom that he might as well have shouted them.  
  
As she saw the boys cringe and flinch from their father/father figure's even tirade, Samantha was glad he wasn't. Not because she felt any sympathy towards them. After all, she had been the one who had had to go get them at the principal office, learning of the incident there. She had been so steaming mad, that she had nearly blown the family car apart from her shouting, and then shaken the rafters of the house when they had come home, treating the bruises with a stern and almost cruel curtness. Unlike her husband, fighting and knowing how to fight was a necessary evil that she had had to learn as a security measure when working on the street, helping bums. She had never admired those who fought because they just wanted to, and made that unbelievably clear to her boys. She had been still angry enough that, when her husband had come back to have something to eat - which he always did before the evening classes at his dojo - he had hesitantly asked if he had done something wrong. That's when she told him, shaking and banging different items and ustensils as she did so. He had looked grim, and had dragged the boys from their hideout. And now, it was his turn to give them a piece of his mind.  
  
"In this family, we believe in seeking fair, honourable fights, and then with opponents that can help us augment our skills. We do not go sprawling into the dirt for any stupid reason. Your grand-father didn't, I didn't, my brother didn't and I'll be damned if you start doing this too!" his voice became angrier as he spoke to the boys individually. "I hoped you had more sense, Thomas, challenging someone who's used to using strength to get what he wants! And as for you, Jeremy, I thought there was more of your father in you. It seems I was mistaken."  
  
He fell silent, his even but angry gaze staring unblinking at the two unfortunate children, who were fairly squirming by now. The black-haired man - whose hair was just now starting to grey - heaved a frustrated sigh, then resumed in his normal voice.  
  
"Go to your room. No playing outside for the next week. And from now on I'll show you how to fight. Really fight. Honourably. One-on-one. Follow a damn code. You'll go to every one of my classes that I tell you to and you'll train with me when I tell you to without saying a word of complaint. Now go."  
  
The boys were completely distraught. This was way too harsh, in their opinion. Even Samantha was taken aback, though she didn't show it.  
  
"But, what about supper?" asked Thomas timidly.  
  
"None tonight. Consider this when you pick a needless fight."  
  
"B-b-but..."  
  
"You two have no idea how easy I'm letting you off on this. You see, I'm not angry yet. You two have never seen me angry. The only ones who have don't want to see it again. Now I am telling you to go to your room and stay there. Go."  
  
"..."  
  
"NOW!"  
  
The two scampered away. Samantha went to sit beside her husband.  
  
"Don't you think it was a little bit harsh, all the same?"  
  
"It was. They need it. And I'm not so bad compared to my own father. When John and I did these things, we had trouble sitting for three days afterwards. My punishment will be harsh training and discipline."  
  
"You'll make them old before they are even fully grown." she remonstrated sadly.  
  
Mattew looked at his wife, his look one of tenderness, a look that very few had ever seen. A look he had only for her. He brushed his hand against her hair. "I might." he admitted. "Will you hate me...for that?"   
  
In answer, she kissed him. When they broke the kiss, she rested her head on his shoulder. "I'll never hate you, you big, dumb martial artist. Just go easy on them, okay? don't push them too hard."  
  
"I won't." a long silence ensued. "My love?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Is it just me, or is there smoke coming out of the kitchen?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Well, here we are. A new part. I hope you like it. I'm not sure I do. Still, I had to start the true context from somewhere. See ya soon!  
  
Jeremy  
  
Any comments? this is my e-mail address: ledar10@hotmail.com 


	3. Chapter 2

Will and Fate Ch. 2Will and Fate Ch. 2  
By Jeremy  
  
  
May 1991  
"Comin' at ya."  
"Try it. Just try it!"  
Jeremy came at him with a swift kick that Tom blocked and countered with a fine   
series of jabs. The smallest of the two fighters fell back from the unslaught,   
only to stand firm a few feet farther. Tom tried a nicely executed roundhouse   
kick, which was dodged, immediately followed by a sweep kick. Both combattants   
unlocked and fell back, gauging the other, studying the fighting stance, looking   
for some sort of breach of defenses. They could see none, of course. They had   
trained together for four years and knew each other far too well. Others might   
have thought that fighting in these conditions would be rather dull but to them,   
trying to fight with an opponent who knew them so well proved...extremely   
challenging.  
With a cry, Jeremy attacked with jabs, kicks, swings and all he could think of   
in his arsenal, deliberately trying to distract Tom. But the bigger Storm was no   
fool, standing his ground and blocking the attacks, even managing to get a punch   
or two in, althought these did little damage. He tried to deliver a powerful   
punch in the face, something his cousin had to dodge if he wanted his head still   
attached. It was dodged, but not the way he tought it would be. Instead of   
dropping and being caught by an hard kick in the stomach, the smaller youth   
rolled with the punch, flinging himself backward and executing a satisfactory,   
but shaky and imperfect, backflip. He did land on his feet, however, before his   
cousin could recover from the swing of his punch, which carried him forward by   
barely a feet.  
That feet was all Jeremy wanted, crouching and delivering a swift kick to his   
cousin's unbalanced feet. His center of gravity now completely taken, the bigger   
combattant fell to the ground with a sharp yelp. He recovered after a moment,   
scrambling to his feet and resuming his fighting stance. He stopped, however,   
when he saw his cousin had relaxed his, wearing a smile on his face.  
"Got ya there, big guy!" he laughed.  
"Yeah, you sure did. How you manage these d*mn flips without breaking your neck   
just amazes the heck out me." grumbled Tom  
"Well, when you can do it, do it. If you can't, try."  
"Dad doesn't say that; not gramps, either." said Tom.  
"No, but I do." stated Jeremy, still smiling.  
"You're weird, Jer."  
"Maybe. Enough sparring for today?"  
"Yeah, I'm beat. Lets get back, 'kay?"  
The two started to walk out of the training space they had used for the last two   
years, pulling off their training gloves as they chatted. One looking at them   
would barely have recognized the two. Thomas was aleady incredibly large by the   
standards of twelve-year olds. Jeremy was more average in height. However, both   
were far more athletic and muscular then the average, and a disciplined outlook   
that few could miss.  
This was in no small thanks due to their father, Mattew - even Jeremy had taken   
to calling him 'dad' - who had been true to his word and had treated them to one   
of his harshest training routines, barely softening it because of their young   
age. First, he had them do a steadily increasing amount of squats, push-ups and   
sit-ups, always doing those with them. He also had them run a one-mile course   
each weak with an heavy sack to increase their lung and cardiac capacity. In   
winter, he did sessions of jogging with them, running in the snow to augment the   
strength of their legs.  
Aside from that, there were the classes at the dojo. There the two learned to   
jump, block, kick, punch and do all sorts of other little techniques under the   
watchful eyes of Mattew and sometimes their assistant. All the students soon saw   
that the two had been singled out, for the training was much harder than theirs.   
  
There was much complaining in the first few months. They couldn't do the   
physical stuff at first: after twenty of each, they were just drained. They were   
always unable to do the mile-long run at first, stopping again and again as   
their lungs ached. As for running in the snow, they more stumbled along then   
anything else, Mattew having to stop regularly to let them catch up to him. They   
were sometimes so beat that more than once their mother had tried to have Mattew   
give them a break. It was a futile try: he was adamant on the training.  
Then, one day, Jeremy's complaints stopped. He threw himself into anything   
Mattew told him to do with abandon, doing his best to do it exactly and   
perfectly. Thomas was surprised at this, and then shocked as Jeremy started to   
outperform him, both in the physical and training aspects. When he saw Jeremy   
being granted a belt one level higher than he, feeling jealous at his father's   
proud face when he looked at his smaller brother, he finally exploded the very   
night.  
"How come you've become so good? You do those hard things and you do them   
without a peep. Its frustrating, you make these things look easy. But I know   
they're not!"  
Then his cousin had looked at him with the mild but amused look that was slowly   
becoming his trademark, and surprised him.  
"If you keep thinking its hard, then it'll be that. Start thinking 'This is   
fun!' or 'Its easy!' and it won't seem too bad then."  
They had said no more about that, but Tom soon decided to follow his cousin's   
advice. To his surprise, it had worked. The training didn't seem as bad as all   
that, and he started to get better quickly at all that. After their father   
decided they had had enough, they stuck to the training - althought both decided   
on a slightly more reasonable level. Soon, they were rising in skills and   
strength. Within a year, even the big bully Ian and all the ilk like him gave   
the two Storms a wide berth. He was quite pleased with that, but found that his   
smaller sibling wasn't sharing the sentiment.  
"I don't want to be a bully." was all he said when Tom asked him about it.  
To Tom's mind, Jeremy was strange, very strange. He had a knack for   
understanding and utilizing techniques that Tom lacked. He was more disciplined   
as well, although he seemed quite gung-ho when trying out things he just   
learned, like the backflip. These natural abilities made Thomas sometimes feel   
clumsy because he couldn't always catch on to Jer.  
Already it was starting to show. Jeremy had won his black belt nearly eight   
months before, after a private test with senseis from other martial arts   
schools, a test that he said was 'H*ll without the fire'. Thomas had barely been   
able to reach the brown belt, and seemed stuck there, which irked him. In   
training, he knew the only reason Jeremy didn't win more than his share was   
because they knew each other so well and because Tom's far greater girth and   
strength dampened Jeremy's skills and speed. However, more and more, the   
stalemate was breaking as Jeremy' abilities grew by leaps and bounds while his   
was a bare steady stream.  
But, then again, he'd never be hurt by Jeremy, Right? They were brothers, right?  
"How 'bout some meditation?" asked Jeremy when they arrived at the edge of their   
training field.  
Thomas pushed his gloomy thoughts aside and smiled ruefully. "What's the use? We   
just can't do it yet, Jer. Too early. You heard what dad said."  
"Yeah. And I heard grandpa say that things come in their own time. So why would   
we go as slowly as our dads? My biological mother mastered it faster than him,   
after all!" was the reasoned retort.  
Thomas groaned. "Alright, you win. Just a few minutes." And he sat on the   
ground, taking a meditative pose, a pose which looked like an indian prayer   
position. Next to him, Jeremy took the same position, and both youths closed   
their eyes.  
For many minutes, both stood still, trying to find their center. They delved   
within themselves, concentrating their minds on finding their spirit. Thomas   
soon saw that it wasn't working. He wasn't feeling any different at all! He   
finally sighed and opened his eyes. Jeremy still hadn't budged. He still seemed   
in a trance. Right.  
"Nothing?" he asked the meditating youth.  
Jeremy slowly opened his eyes. They were frustrated, even a little angry. Tom   
wasn't sure at whom... or what.  
"No. AGH! This is killing me! I know we're doing this the wrong way, but HOW?!?"   
He threw himself down on the ground in disgust. "I guess you're right. Its too   
early for us to tap into our chi. But it still galls me." They turned as they   
heard someone running up to them. They soon saw that it was Claudia. Thomas's   
stare became interested while Jeremy stayed rather indifferent.  
Claudia and Nate, their good friends, had grown themselves in the last four   
years. Of the two, it was she who was changing the most, however. She was   
taller, slimmer and her figure - to Tom's eyes - was daily growing more   
beautiful. If there was one thing in which he was still far in advance of his   
little brother, it was in realizing that women were beautiful and should be   
admired. Jeremy still looked at girls the way kids did: as annoying, whiny   
things who tried to look good for some unfathomable reason. Everytime Tom was   
caught goggling, he had looked at him funny, as if he was some kind of crazy   
person. He simply didn't know what he was missing, poor guy. Still, it was fun   
to know he had some sort of edge over him.  
Claudia, her blond hair streaming behind her, seemed quite in a hurry as she   
came towards them. She ran to Tom with barely a glance of acknowledgement for   
Jeremy, who really didn't seem to mind, and came to stand square before him. He   
was just about to ask what was wrong, when he was treated to a large dose of   
what he, Jeremy and Nate jokingly called Claudia's Verbal Beam.  
"Tomimgladifoundyouyouknowithoughtyoudbeherewithjercuzthetwoofyoutrainalotnatetriesbuthesnotasgoodandsowhyamihereohyesoneofthecharacterofourplaydesistedandiwantyoutoreplacehimdoyouwanttodothatpleasepleaseprettyplease?"  
The unending, incomprehensible stream of words deferled on the two youths, who   
reacted in concert, the only way they've ever been able too.  
"HUH??"  
"Did you get that?" Tom asked Jeremy.  
"Don't ask me. If I could punch as fast as she tells something, I'd die happy. I   
got 'character', 'play' and 'please' but that's about all."  
"Ah."  
"Eh!"  
"Wait...whats that about a play?" asked Tom.  
"What I just said of course." commented Claudia.  
"We're just too dumb to understand your fast speech. What did it mean in normal   
english?"  
"What I said was that one of our actors has skipped off, and I'd like you to   
replace him." said Claudia.  
Thomas blinked, counted to ten, then coughed. He didn't know how to respond,   
really. Beside him, Jeremy started to laugh his head off, literally rolling   
around in the grass. Claudia shot him a disgusted look, but Tom was too amazed -   
no, horrified - to say anything.   
"B-b-but Claudia, I don't know anything abouts plays and stuff like that!" he   
finally exclaimed. It was, of course, a very bad way to defend oneself, but when   
you don't know how to get yourself out of something, you have to either plead or   
shut up. And Thomas didn't like silence. Claudia took a stern posture that, had   
she known it, made her seem extremely cute but not stern at all. Thomas wasn't   
going to tell her that.  
"Oh, I see! As soon as something isn't physical, you don't know what to do, that   
it?" she growled in a way that tried but utterly failed to be threatening.  
Jeremy was almost choking by now in his laughter, which started to anger Tom   
more than a little. "Instead of guffawing like a blasted moron, why don't you   
help me?"  
The smaller boy tried to rein in his laughter. "Why...hehe...should I? You can't   
refuse...heh...it. H-hehe-h-honor demands it." he smiled wickedly. "If you don't   
go, word'll around that you're a big chicken, right Claudia?"  
Claudia's eyes glinted mischieviously. "Right. That's right! That's what'll   
happen."  
S***. D*mn. And fiddledsticks. Jer had just given her a lot of ammo and she was   
willing to use, d*mm*t! Still, pride demanded that he made a fighting effort to   
retain some dignity.  
"I won't do it if its a large role. No way, no how."  
"Don't worry." Claudia purred. "Its just a small part. The character's supposed   
to be big and strong. So you fit it perfectly!"  
"What's the part?" asked Jeremy.  
"Oh, a woodcutter." was the off-handed answer.  
Hearing this, Jeremy started to laugh harder than ever, this time holding his   
sides as if they hurt. "You're right! Its perfect for him! Take it, Tom! Its you   
all over!"  
Thomas spat him a curse. Then he sighed. "Alright. I'll do it. As long as its a   
very SMALL role." he warned.  
Claudia smiled and clapped her hands, hopping in her joy. "Awright! You won't   
regret that."  
"Claudia, good friend, dear friend, he already regrets it." smirked Jeremy.  
Thomas found that it was only too true a statement.  
* * * * *  
Two days later...  
"And I say that them boys are cursed, ma'am!"  
Nate shook his head. "No, here is says 'I say them boys be accursed, ma'am.' You   
really have to concentrate." he put the booklet down and faced Tom, who was   
pacing around.  
"Well, excuuse me! I'm not the one who left this gig four days before the show."   
The miffed answer came.  
"And its not me who gave you that d*mn role, so lay off, I'm just trying to   
help!!!"  
"When I find the loser who did this..." he left the thought unfinished.  
"If you have to do this, could you go someplace else. This is our training   
field, not some theatre." This came from Jeremy, who was practicing katas   
farther off. Tom's theatrical training wasn't going well. In the two days he had   
taken to learn and remember his character in the play, he had made little   
headway, not to say none. Worse, his rants about the play were beginning to wear   
on everyone's nerve, even Thomas' father, who had banned any such rehearshal   
from his house. Thus they were here, on Tom's favorite place after his home. And   
they were starting to give up. Nate still couldn't believe Claudia had talked   
him into helping his big friend. It just....well, just wasn't something he was   
good at.   
Presently, he looked at Jeremy. "At least your not stuck with these lines!" he   
retorted.  
"No, but I've been having them shouted at me for the past two hours! If this   
keeps up, I'll be repeating 'accursed' and 'wood' in my sleep! Would you mind   
just going someplace else?"  
"Well, as a matter of fact bro, yes!"  
"Fine. I'll go help mom and dad back at the house. Good luck to ya!"  
They both gazed at Jeremy's back. Sensing them, he turned. "Oh yeah. Mom and   
dad'll be at the play. So you better shape up!" He left. Tom immediately began   
freaking out  
"AAGH! If I don't do good, I'll never hear the end of it! Give me that text, I   
wanna see it!"  
Nate sighed. This was going to be a long day...  
* * * * *  
That Evening...  
Jeremy was meditating. Or, at least, he was trying to, with a restless sibling   
filling the entire house with anxiety. The worst was, he was largely to blame   
this time: his tease about the parents had made the poor guy worse than nervous.   
Now Tom was tearing into everything, showing little patience for anything. Right   
now, he was sitting nearby, muttering something incherent while staring at the   
news on the TV. Pent up frustration at having his afternoon exercice litterally   
revoked by two arguing boys, added to this continuing streak of rants finally   
caused the mild youth to burst with enervation.  
"Enough! If you can't do anything else than rant, go do something to occupy your   
mind!" he snapped.  
"Like what, genius?" was the frustrated spout.  
"I don't know and I don't CARE!! As long as its more CONSTRUCTIVE than this d*mn   
muttering and MOSTLY as long as its FAR from me!"  
Thomas looked at him angrily. "You really are a great help, you know, little   
bro!?!"  
"I'm honored to be. Now get your *ss out of here."  
With an angry grunt and more mutterings, Thomas stalked out the sitting room's   
entryway. A few seconds later, he heard the slamming of a door. He didn't know   
which and he didn't care. Peace, at last. Now he could get back on tapping his   
chi, a task that, of yet, had eluded all of his efforts.  
He had come to the conclusion that focusing his thoughts might be the wrong way   
to go about doing that. Perhaps, he surmised, he had to let it come to him   
instead of hounding it. He didn't know. But at least he was wiling to experiment   
on his theory. He concentrated, found his inner balance. And then, instead of   
concentrating upon it, he let it go away, drifting, letting him take him where   
it pleased it.  
His center took him to pleasant memories, which filed past him quickly. Tom and   
him playing tag. Mattew teaching him how to swim. Samantha shooting him when he   
had hurt himself playing outside. Him petting grandpa's dog, a strong but mellow   
doberman. Claudia and Nate laughing. Such sweet memories. He felt himself being   
absorbed in them, and let it happen.  
Can't believe in this, you know.  
What, now its my fault?!?  
I was holding back, last time! No more!  
Well...maybe its not that bad.  
I love you, stupid girl.  
Jeremy snapped out of his trance, dazed and frantic. What the h*ll was that? It   
had never happened before in these meditation sessions. He struggled to   
remember. These sentences...it was...he was the one who spoke them. But it   
wasn't really his voice, it seemed more....weathered....somewhat older. More   
cynical, too. He wasn't sure he liked all the tones he had heard. The love   
declaration seemed okay, but others, especially the one about not holding back,   
seemed downright belligerent. And angry. No, not angry...enraged. He sounded   
furious, hostile. He shook his head. But why did these things pop into his head?   
And why did they seem so...right?  
One thing's for sure, he thought savagely, I'm not trying this again. At   
least...at least I know what I did and what its supposed to be. He then cried   
out as an overpowering wave of agony took residence in his head. No one heard:   
he just chased Tom away, and Mattew and Samantha were off visiting friends of   
theirs. He tried to stand up, failed as the pain intensified. He couldn't   
scream, it was just too intense. He collapsed on the wooden floor.  
Note to self: when someone says you're not ready, give him some credit. He   
thought as blackness overtook him.  
* * * * *  
The same evening...  
Frank Hammerbound tried to block the attack that was coming, but only managed to   
get his arm damaged, once again. This time, however, the pain was worse than   
ever. He heard an oily crack and cried out, knowing his left arm was broken. His   
mind searched for ways to escape his foe, knowing full well that there was no   
escape. This place was too far from his house to expect help, and he could never   
hope to outrun the figure in front of him, especially in his exhausted state.   
The worst of the situation was that he knew he had brought this upon himself.  
For the past six months, he'd been making night escapades to the lake not too   
far from his house, against his parents' interdictions. It had always worried   
him at first, that they should find out. His father would've had kittens, and   
his mother...well, it'd be best not to dwell on that. But, as time wore on, he   
came to like these little times by himself, away from the restrictions of home.   
Of course, it also put him in a very vulnerable position, but he'd never   
worried. Tonight, he realized he should have.  
Tonight, he was paying the price.  
He cried out as punch after iron-like punch pounded into him relentlessly. He   
was at the limits of his strength, ready to collapse. The figure, which he   
couldn't make out in the gloom, didn't seem to be even winded. Staggering, he   
tried to turn and run, but received a tremendous blow to the back. He screamed,   
the pain lacing and streaming throught his body. He heard another crack, and his   
legs failed under him. He fell, and found out that he couldn't move his legs at   
all. The realization caused him to go into a full-blown panic.  
NONONO MY BACK GOD HE BROKE MY BACK HE'S GONNA KILL ME GOD HE BROKE MY BACK...   
went through his head as he tried desperately to crawl, run scramble, anything   
just to get away from there.  
"Yeah, I'm going to kill you. So try to take death with a bit of pride." said a   
coldly amused voice matter-of-factly.  
Saying so, the figure kicked him again. He gasped as fresh pain came to him.   
Still, in the back of his mind, something told him he knew that voice. But whose   
was it?  
"You're so pathetic..." said the voice, stepping towards him. Frank tried to   
crawl, but finally stopped with a sob. He then let go completely, letting go of   
hope and life. Then, in a flash, his mind placed the voice.  
"You! I know you!" he shouted desperately. Another kick silenced him painfully.  
"Yes. It won't change the outcome." was the indifferent reply.  
Frank knew that. He also knew he was dead. But, still, he tried to stall it as   
long as he could.  
"B-but why? Why do you want to kill me?" he asked throught clenched teeth.  
The figure stopped, seemed to hesitate. A faint hope stirred in the crippled   
youth. However, it was quickly dashed as the figure - one he now knew - raised   
his fett above Frank's head.  
"That's a good one, you know." said the voice, as if considering the matter   
profoundly. "Why would I kill you?" And then, just before the foot came down to   
crush the life out of Frank Hammerbound, twelve-year old youth who had an   
unfortunate streak of desobedience, the answer, cold and definite, was heard.  
"Whyever not?"  
* * * * *  
Later that evening...  
"If you don't wake up, Jer, I'm going to get you to the nearest clinic, even if   
I have to carry you all the way there!"  
The frustrated but worried voice cut throught Jeremy's blackness. He opened his   
eyes, blinked at the light, and finally focused on the tense and worried face of   
Thomas Storm. His answer was quick and typical.  
"Ohh man. You can't ba an angel, it'd be too lame." he said  
"I'll take that as a 'I'm okay'." said Tom.  
Jeremy nodded. The pain was alomst gone. Obviously what he had gone throught was   
over. He started when he discovered he was lying in the entry way, not the   
sitting room.  
"How did I get here?" he asked, bewildered.  
"You were sleepwalking. I really freaked out when I saw you. After tonight..."   
he stopped, and Jeremy knew something was up.  
"What? What happened tonight?"  
"Well...I wanted to wait until you were better but...Claudia gave this call   
and...well, you know..."  
"Just spit it out, Tom!" snapped Jeremy. The freaking experience of the evening   
wasn't putting him in a good mood.  
Tom grimaced. "Ah...well, you know that guy who stays near Claudia's? You know,   
the nature-lover or such?"  
"Yeah...Frank or Francis, right?"  
"Bingo. Well, he's dead...beaten to death."  
"What?"  
"Yep. an old man found him. He'd been dragged out of the woods an on the walkway   
in front of his house." his voice was grim. "Claudia called here. She was   
freaked. After a while, I went to get you. That's when I saw you roaming   
outside."  
"S***."  
"You bet. Well, nothing we can do about it, except hope the police'll get the   
*ssh*le."  
"Mom would wup you to tomorrow if she heard that expression from you."  
"What can I say? He is an *ssh*le."  
Jeremy groaned. "Well, I'll talk to her tomorrow. I'm too beat."  
"You look that, alright. What did you do?"  
"Something I won't try again for a long time." Jeremy stated earnestly.  
Thomas nodded. "Well, I don't have much to do. Might as well do the same."  
Jeremy had started ascending the stairs, but stopped. "What about the play at   
school."  
"Claudia called it off after this."  
"Uhn. Lucky you, bro."  
"Yeah, lucky me."  
But althought the two young fighters spoke those words, one would have been   
hard-pressed to find anything else then soberness in their expressions. It just   
wasn't the kind of luck people usually enjoyed.  
  
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	4. Chapter 3

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 3  
  
April 1992  
  
Cold. Itchy, itchy.  
  
Those words were rapidly becoming frequent in Jeremy's mind. Early april always was a cold month, and this day was one of the worse yet. Still, he kept his ready fighting stance, wearing only the gi that he did at the dojo. The cold was starting to numb his arms and legs, he had the impression that, if he tried to grin, his face would fall off, so stiff it was. As for his feet and fists, they might as well have been blocks of ice themselves for all he felt of them. Worse still, he had a tremendous itch develloping on his left thigh. Yet, he held on.  
  
In front of him was his grandfather, also in a gi and in a fighting stance. He was staring at Jeremy unblinkingly, as he had had for what seemed to the young teenager a year at least. He was supposed to be the image of his grandfather in his youth. Well, that seemed good, but he wasn't sure he'd like to be this wrinkled and weathered when he got old like him. Not that his grandfather was frail as old men went, but still...it was a sobering thought.  
  
James Storm might have been reading his grandson's thoughts, for he brought him back to reality sharply. "You are letting your mind wander again, Jeremy. Doing so puts you at risk in a fight.Clear your mind and let nothing distract you." If he was indisposed about the snow, it really didn't show.  
  
As for Jeremy, he was getting imperatively uncomfortable. The cold was spreading through his body and the damning itch was getting worse by the second. He tried to focus on something else: girls, books, practice, anything to keep his mind focused, but everytime, the same words appeared again, again, and again.  
  
Cold. Itchy.  
  
Finally, he couldn't stand it. Reaching with his left hand, he scratched the thigh, lowering his eyes for a bare moment. Thus he was completely unprepared for the shot that went smack at the right side of his head. Dazed, he never had the chance to put up any defense before he was thrown off his feet, to land on the hard-packed, cold earth of his grand-father's backyard. It took him barely a second get back to his feet, a second more to take his fighting stance again. His grand father had already retaken his, calm as ever, as if the attack hadn't been from him at all.  
  
Jeremy cursed inwardly. It was the sixth time that it had happened since the beginning of this session of practice. It was infuriating, humiliating and, to him at least, useless.   
  
"Sorry grandpa, but..why do we have to do this?" he asked. The answer, when it came, was the same he had heard over and over again for the past two days.  
  
"To learn chi one must learn focus."  
  
"I know, I know. But it still seems too much to learn something like this thing."  
  
"Remember, grandson, that this thing almost tainted your soul irrevocably."  
  
Jeremy sighed. He knew this would come up. Ever since he had tried to reach his chi while knowing he wasn't ready, he had heard nothing but it. When his uncle had learned of it, he had gone on an uncharacteristic shouting jag that shook the house and frightened its other inhabitants. It was then that Mattew had declared that Jeremy would train with his grandfather, until he learned either to control his chi or his impulsion to learn before he was ready, whichever came first. He hadn't dared to disagree. So, far, however, he had been unable to do either.  
  
And so he had gone to train. And found out that his grandfather wasn't revered by fighters for nothing. His exercices demanded a precision and a focus that was quite a step beyond his training. Meditation, controlled combat moves, focus lessons, all mixed together to form an unending line of training implementations that had almost driven him crazy at first. Even now, two days into the 'motionless focus' phase and two weeks on the overall, he was barely starting to catch up. These weeks made him like his school days, where he actually could feel normal and not some guinea pig.   
  
"Grandpa..." he asked this reluctantly. "When I contacted my chi, I...I heard...voices."  
  
The elder Storm didn't blink, but visibly relaxed his stance. "Voices, you say?"  
  
"Well, my voice...but not my voice."  
  
"Be more precise, grandson."  
  
Jeremy relaxed his own stance, licking lips that felt cold and dry. He coughed. "I'll try. It was like...hereing myself. No, an older version of mine. It seemed like I was talking to someone. Or perhaps not just one person. I...I remember that I didn't like that voice, all in all."  
  
"Why so?"  
  
"Well, it was deeper and older. That was unsettling. But the tone was worse. The voice seemed...incredibly cynical, perhaps bitter. Yes, bitter."  
  
The old man paused, relaxing his stance completely. He looked at Jeremy's face and nodded. "Walk back to the house with me." They did so, trudging along on the cold ground. They entered the house, and the young teenager couldn't help but utter a small sigh of pleasure when he felt the warmth of the house's interior. His grandfather smiled at him. "You've been spoiled rotten by Mattew and Samantha. About time I took the reins back. Now, your older voice had a bitter undercurrent. Well, did it seem violent or hostile?"  
  
"For a sentence involving not holding back, yes. As for the other sentences...no, it radiated some sort of kindness and it was mild. It was just cynical."  
  
"Well, its not that bad. Gouken told me this could happen if one reached for his chi too quickly and too deeply."  
  
Jeremy raised a curious eyebrow. "Err...who's Gouken, grandpa?"  
  
James smiled sadly. "A very great warrior, greater than me. He taught me all I know about chi, even thought I wasn't part of his discipline. And I have yet to thank him for that. But back to you. Gouken explained that chi could reach into the future, if used properly. Now, what you had was a brutal, unrestrained flux of that ability. I advise you not to repeat it, not until you have truly mastered your chi. If you ever do."  
  
Jeremy nodded enthusiatically. "Believe me, I've no intention of doing it soon. Especially now, two days from D-Day."  
  
The elder man looked surprised. "D-Day?" he asked.  
  
"Oh. You know, we've been pestering dad to enter us into true tournament. Me and Tom, I mean. Well, he did it. We go for it in two days.  
  
"What kind of tournament?"  
  
"A big one. Ruleless, unbridled."  
  
"And usually senseless." a sigh, then a chuckle. "But then, you're a bit young to know that, aren't you? Do you think you two are up to it?"  
  
Jeremy smiled. "Sure. Tom and me, we're already waaaay better than the others at the dojo. I don't think it'll be any problem." He stopped when he noticed the old man frowning. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I feel arrogance in you now. That's not good. Not good at all. Never underestimate those you face, even if you think you are stronger. Because, sometimes, what you think isn't what you are."  
  
"Um...okay. I'll try."  
  
Another sigh, heavy with irony. "No, you won't until you're defeated. We Storms always had to feel a first defeat to wake up from our dellusions. We're all like that - your true father being the exception. But you'll learn. And the sooner the better."  
  
* * * * * * * * *  
Two days later  
  
"Well, here we are, boys. The tournament."   
  
Mattew stated that in a tone of voice he had wanted showy and proud. Instead, he had sounded tired. He knew it, too, which was worse. In front of him were fighting circles in which the combats would be waged. And around him were many dozen teenagers of different age, all of them exuding strength, confidence and the stubborness of youth. Seeing all that optimism, all that energy, made him feel...heck, why not say it?...old. He knew it was a simplistic thought for, even at forty-three, he still retained the skills and dexterity of fighters a decade younger. Yet, he knew that what he was seeing today was the start. The start of the passing of the guard. He had felt it start a few years back, when a young man named Ryu defeated Sagat, the Muy Thaï champion that had been the World's Greatest Fighter for over a decade. Then all this talk about the so-called World Warriors, fighters who stood a degree beyond street fighters. Such nonsensical talk was what made him feel like yesterday's news.  
  
He looked at his boys, seeing that they were as eager for the competion as any other youths. Just like he and his brother had been, many years before. He looked around and saw the stand where they had to sign up, and he turned to his littles fighter-wannabes to tell them to follow him...  
  
"God! I don't believe it! The Black Eagle!" cried a deep, joyous voice.  
  
Mattew Storm wheeled around at the sound of the nickname he had been given years ago on the Hidden Tournaments, astounded that it would be spoken, especially in a gathering of young people who hadn't been born when he fought under that name. He barely had the time to register someone was just behind him - gods, he had to learn to focus his cramped reflexes - before he was litterally engulfed in a crushing bear hug. His breath cut off, he barely heard the other man laugh uproariously as he his tall framed was lifted up. He coughed and hacked and managed to free himself, landing on his feet warily. He looked at the man who stood - well, more like towered- in front of him. He stopped then and stared. And then the two younger Storms fairly jumped as he burst out laughing himself and mock-punched the other man in the gut.  
  
"Tom 'Hammerhand' Strongfort! What are you doing here?!?" he asked in surprise. Tom, immense, soldiery Tom, had been a good friend on the circuits when he was younger. To see him again pleased him greatly. And intrigued him.  
  
The giant, who stood head and shoulders over the tall Mattew, nearly split his face with the smile he gave. "What d'you think? Same thing you're doin': kicking a kid out there to get some real experience. Alex! Get over here!"  
  
Toward the group stepped a teenager that had been standing just aside. He had long blond hair, fierce green eyes, a tall frame - he stood a little taller than Mattew, yet seemed barely older than his son Tom - and was heavily muscled. He had a nice, smiling look about him, however, showing that he took a lot after the Hammerhand. His old ally put a great arm around the young man and pointed to the one who had once been called Black Eagle.  
  
"Alex, m'boy, meet one of the toughest fighters that I ever met in my time, Mattew Storm. I had a lot of bruises from this guy - and a lot of laughs, too!" He clapped Storm's shoulder, and the former fighter coulfd not help but wince a bit.  
  
The blond teenager nodded to him happily. "Sir, its really a pleasure to meet a great fighter like you!"  
  
"Great?" wondered Mattew, shaking his greying-haired head. "'Good' maybe but not 'great'. I'm not Charlie Nash here."  
  
Tom winked. "Gotten modest with your old age. Now, how about presenting me to those two gaping kids I see behind you?"  
  
Mattew did. Thomas shook hands with the two giants heartily, while Jeremy acted in his usual gentle, calm manner. Surprisingly, after a few moments Alex and Jeremy seemed to hit off completely, talking of training and fighting, fishing, school, and all they could think of. It seemed strange to the older Storm, who had expected the oldest of his sons to be the life of the party. Instead, the youngest had the attention of the young giant, while Thomas was in the background. Soon the trio left to enlist, leaving the two older men to watch after them.  
  
Tom looked at Mattew. "That Jeremy, he's Jonathan's boy, or I'm a fool."  
  
"That you are not. He is. Does it show that much?"  
  
"You kiddin' me? The calm, the gentleness, the reserved but lively way he has. Its his father all and all."  
  
Mattew nodded. "With his mother's skills and fire underneath." he added. The giant shot him a blank look. "Don't you know? Amelia Wang?" His words were barely out that Tom exploded.  
  
"Whazzat?!? Hot, you're-dead-if-you-fight-me Amelia? How did he get that babe, Matt?"  
  
Mattew laughed. "I guess he was so kind she fell for him."  
  
Tom joined the laughter. "And how are those two?"  
  
The retired fighter sobered. "They're dead, Tom." The giant stopped laughing, stared at him, then bowed his head.  
  
"What a damn."  
  
"Oh yeah."  
  
Both were silent for many moments after that, thinking of past times when Tom, Mattew, Jonathan and a few others would go out and have fun. Great cherished memories, but ones that made the missing Storm's death even more sad. Finally Mattew shook himself out of his funk.  
  
"Enough. John wouldn't want this. Let's talk about something else. That Alex, he's not your boy, right?"  
  
"Not by blood, no. But just about every other way."  
  
Mattew nodded. He had surmised as much and it was the kind of answer he had expected. He looked at the blond youth and studied him.  
  
"He's strong, that one. Very strong. You've trained him well."  
  
"And he's getting stronger. What about your boys?" asked Tom with a smile, his eyes still saddened by the sudden news of the loss of two people he either was fond of or at least respected.   
  
Mattew made a non-commital gesture. "It depends. As of now, they're both as strong as the other, with Jeremy having a slight edge. But it won't always be that way."  
  
"You mean, your Tom is gonna catch up to him?" But the Black Eagle only shook his head. "Then what?"  
  
"The contrary. I've seen this coming for a long while now, and time is only proving me right. You see, Thomas is tall and strong for his age, and has extensive skills. But, althought not as strong, Jeremy is swifter, has better reflexes, and is refining his strengths while dampening his weaknesses at an incredible rate. What I'm saying is that Tom has just about reached his plateau, while Jeremy is nowhere near his limits. Already, after two weeks training with my father, he is starting to understand a bit about chi and how it works. According to him, he'll be able to master the Eagle Strike by the age of fifteen, and may be able to learn the techniques I've never been able to master."  
  
Tom whistled. "Thats quite a summary there. I think Alex, in his own way, can reach a level like your boy. I'd like to see them fight each other, just to see their limits being really put to the test."  
  
Mattew looked at the trio. Jeremy was actively talking about something, obviously having to do with training, while Alex was eagerly listening, sometimes making a comment. Thomas seemed rather left out of it, althought it seemed to no voluntary intention of the other two. Strange, that two people who met mere minutes ago could get along so well, so fast. As if they were....as if they were...  
  
"Yes, kindred spirits." He said. The giant next to him nodded, understanding what he meant by that comment.  
  
"Three talented fighters we know, and a few others who must be. It might be a nice little tournament after all."  
  
"Yup. It just might!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Three hours later...  
  
Alex Strongfort hadn't really thought he'd meet any true competion at the tournament. After all, ever since he had started the training in whrestling, he had always been far above the best his age, no matter what they did. Tom warned him that it was a type of arrogance one had to be careful with, less he took on more than he could chew. The young blond had acknowledged what his mentor/trainer/adoptive father had said, but he still found his way of thinking sound. After all, he hadn't met anyone who seemed to come up near his level, except for full grown adults.  
  
The tournament changed that. There he met disciplined and determined opponents, some which he had almost lost to in his certainty of victory. He could still remember the quick pounding he had received at the hands of a lithe kickboxer, who had been defeated only when he had used all his tricks and finally gotten him in a chokehold. Of whrestlers, he had seen only too, and those had been dispatched, their strength no match for the talented young martial artists - one of Kung Fu and the other of Judo - they had had to face. He was glad now that he had taken the time to augment his speed and reflexes to match his strength as much as possible. Because of this, he had been victorious all the way yet, making it to the semi-finals. Now he watched as his future opponent was being chosen. One was Hiram Jones, a young master of the art of Aikido. Throughout his fights, he had demonstrated that he truly deserved the title. Small in stature, he had been able to beat opponents simply by using their greater strength. He had been completely underestimated, and had made his way easily. Except now.  
  
The opponent was Jeremy Storm. Lean but well-muscled, he also had shown a great fighting spirit, using intricate, calculated moves that were swift and surprisingly powerful. he also had made his way easily enough. Now the two were circling each other, neither really attacking, both gauging the strength of his opponent and keeping a strict defense, knowing a slip could mean disaster. It was so tense, some people were barely breathing. Alex was expectant and, he had to admit, extatic. Any of those two would definitely be a worthwhile opponent.  
  
Finally Jeremy attacked with a series of jabs, which were easily blocked. Hiram responded with a swift kick in the midsection. The Storm boy barely had time to react, twisting around and absorbing much of the blow, but no enought. He staggered forward, and the aikido disciple took hold of an arm, heaved, and threw him away. Jeremy landed hard, but rolled and came up before his opponent could capitalize on it. The stalemate resumed. Suddenly Jeremy came up again, using jabs and kicks in what appeared to be a bid to overwhelm the smaller youth. It didn't work, and he again went flying. But again, he came back up too quick for Hiram to advance.  
  
This swift dance continued for many minutes. Jeremy attacked, Hiram blocked. Jeremy punched, Hiram threw him. Alex was beginning to think that he may have badly underestimated the disciple of Kyokushin/Storm's Fang, fo it was clear his defence was wearing down rapidly. It was only a matter of time before Hiram finally finished him.  
  
After three more minutes, and three more throws, the time came. Jeremy shuddered and left the distance between his arms go a little too wide. It was a momentary lapse, but an eternity to all those who saw it. Hiram did, and delivered a strong punch to his opponent's face. Jeremy reeled backward.  
  
That's when things took a surprising turn. As he reeled, Jeremy twisted and delivered a lightning back-kick that was aimed at Jones's neck. The aikido master blocked the leg frantically, catching hold of it in an iron grip. Then Jeremy yelled, lunged up, and managed to bring up his other foot at Hiram's head. The shot told. The aikido disciple was knocked to one side, dazed, while Storm managed to twist around to land unsteadily. Just as his opponent shook himself, Jeremy then caught him with an uppercut, followed by a palm strike to the solar plexus. Hiram was knocked back and flew, landing just outside the fighting circle. The judge immediately spoke out.  
  
"RING OUT! WINNER IS JEREMY STORM OF KYOKUSHIN KARATE!"  
  
There was a dazed but enthusiastic applause, while an obviously winded Jeremy and a rather upset Hiram shook hands. Many looked at the young karate master with admiration, many which were - Alex was amused to notice - of the opposite sex. Boys now looked at Jeremy with quite a bit of envy. Alex was also receiving that treatment, much to his consternation. Among those who applauded, the blond whrestler saw Tom and Mattew, who seemed quite proud, but also strangely unsurprised. He must have missed something. And that could only mean bad news for him. He walked up to Jeremy quickly.  
  
"Had me scared there for a moment." he said. Jeremy surprised him then by smiling up at him.  
  
"Why? It wasn't like I was gonna lose." was the retort.  
  
"You may say that now, but when he was flinging you all over the place, I'm sure you didn' think that...what? What's so funny?" he growled as his smaller friend - man, he was already using that term when thinking about the guy! - worked his way into breathless laughter.  
  
"(wheeze)...heh...(cough)...you really thought....hehe...I was doing that on purpose?" he gasped out. "Don't let your dad hear you say that!"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Don't you find it strange that I'd let myself be taken in by the same trick over and over and over again?"  
  
Alex thought about the fight. Then it struck him. "They were all feints?" he asked, more to himself than to the smaller fighter. Of course, it was Jeremy who immediately answered.  
  
"Right! Extremely painful feints." he groaned, massaging his bruised back. "He was too overconfident, and that made him blind." he finally explained.  
  
Alex shook his head, then let out a laugh, slapping the smaller youth on the shoulder, apologizing quickly when the slap threw said youth down. The more he saw of this Jeremy, the more he liked him: intelligent and mild, hiding inside him a great determination and boldness. He was looking forward to their fight, and told him so.  
  
"Thanks. I'm looking forward to this, too." he swallowed. "I need a drink real bad. Where's Tom?"  
  
"You're brother? He made it to the semi-finals, too." he pointed. "Look, you can see the fight over there."  
  
Sure enough, there was a fight going on, opposing Thomas Storm to the other semi-finalist, a girl whose name Alex didn't catch, but from all aspects seemed to be a master of karate. And a great master, at that, for the young girl was giving Jeremy's more muscular sibling a run for his money. It might be fun to watch the ending, whatever it may be.  
  
Jeremy might have been reading his thoughts, for he said, "Let me get water or something and we'll see how it goes over there."  
  
Finally, after taking a soda at a dispenser - taking compliments and stares in all the the way up and down - they made their way to the fighting circle, pushing their way throught the ever-increasing throng. As soon as they neared, they saw that the fight was going rather badly for Thomas. His blows were waning in strength, while his chest was heaving slightly from the inevitable combination of fatigue, stress and breathlessness that came with exhaustion. As for the girl - rather plain in looks, but physically extremely fit - she seemed to be sweating, but showed no other external sign of discomfort. From what they both could see, her techniques remained strong and precise.  
  
Next to Alex, Jeremy mumbled something. Something that had the words "all at the beginning" and "fool". He understood immediately. This time, it had been Thomas who had been overconfident, giving his all against what he saw as a weaker opponent. The girl must have seen it coming, and had managed to stem the attacks until he had litterally run out of ammo. Then she could defeat him at her leisure. Yes, that must have been what had happened.  
  
And it was working perfectly, too. It was clear that the champion of this tournament would be she, Jeremy or Alex.  
  
Finally, after a last, desperate attack, Thomas was slowly overcome, slipped, tried to rise and was unceremoniously pushed out of the fighting circle. The crowd cheered the winner who, Alex found, seemed deservedly well-pleased of her success.  
  
"WINNER, CAROLINA CASTILLO OF SHINPAH KARATE!" was called out.  
  
Castillo, Alex thought, that's spanish. He didn't know why he had thought this, but he had. It wasn't like the origin was anything important. Skills were. He looked at her as she shook hands with an upset and dejected Thomas. Oh, but she was an arrogant little thing, quite a step beyond all that he'd seen before. She was sure of her skills, and he surmised she didn't think twice when ridiculing another. He hoped she wouldn't make things worse than they already were. Thomas was upset enough.  
  
He should have hoped something else. As she shook hands, her face screwed itself into a derisive smirk. Beside him, Jeremy groaned dismally. Thomas couldn't help but having seen that, of course.  
  
He had.  
  
And the effect was terrible.  
  
Thomas went red with anger. His eyes blazed. Unwitting, the girl turned her back to him and started to walk out of the circle. That's when he shifted around, and brought his feet up.  
  
"TOM, NO!" shouted Jeremy. It came far too late. The feet came crashing down on the girl's shoulder. She screamed in pain, and slumped forward. Jeremy's drink clattered on the floor unheard as the tumult started over the incident At once people went to assist the victim, roughly -and understandably unkindly- thrusting Thomas out of their way. Alex, his mouth agape, stared in shock at the scene. He saw Tom and Mattew kneeling beside the girl's sensei, asking if she was alright. Alex ground his teeth at the girl's moans, and shot Thomas, who had turned away with a strange face, a very dark look indeed.  
  
"No, it's not broken." told the sensei. "He glared at Thomas's back. "But its not for lack of trying."  
  
Thomas ignored the glares, coming to them with a strange look. Alex had never, never in his life felt the very urge to hit a guy, not even the worst bullies he had encountered. As he approached, he clenched his fists and took a step forward, ready to give the dishonorable fighter a punch he'd never forget. But as he did, Jeremy jerked forward, grabbed hold of Thomas's gi, and gave a punch with all of his strength. So strong was it, it almost knocked the taller Storm uncounscious. As it was, he went flat on his butt and sat there, dazed.  
  
"W-w-w" was what he said. He never had the chance to say anything coherent, for Jeremy erupted like a volcano. Alex cringed back when he saw the flare in the eyes of this otherwise composed and mild youth.  
  
"You damn, thoughtless, brainless MORON!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, his anger almost palpable for everyone around. "This was...was...completely...out of line! What you've done is..monstrous." he gritted his teeth. "I won't forget what you did, cousin, I hope you're happy about it, because you've lost a lot for it. Not the least is my respect."  
  
Thomas blinked and while he still seemed dazed, he became coherent again. "At least she won't get the trophy, now." he mumbled.  
  
Jeremy took a step forward again, and this time Alex thought Thomas was really going to have it (not that he minded). Then the smaller Storm stopped, glaring down, then seemed to smirk.  
  
"No, cuz, you won't have even that satisfaction." he said. He turned to the crowd straight, his face, at that moment, seeming older than his fourten years. "I forfeit my place!" he called out. Gasps of surprise accompanied by silent glances of approval boomed out. Alex realized that the smaller youth had just tried to repair a wrong with a good action. He also realized that for it to work, he had to forfeit as well. He toyed with the idea, then saw that his way was clear.  
  
"I forfeit, too." he stated. Seeing Jeremy stride off, he turned to follow. As he walked out of the area, he heard Thomas's voice ring out.  
  
"You can't do that! She..."  
  
"SHUT UP!"  
  
Alex glanced behind him to see a completely pissed-off Mattew Storm, who looked at his son with anger and intense disappointment. Oh yeah, he thought, now he's gonna get it.  
  
He wasn't surprised when he found himself not pitying the fool one bit.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Minutes later...  
  
Jeremy was walking down the entrance hall, angry.  
  
Not, not just angry. He was just simply seeing RED. He wanted to walk back to the arena, to get his hands on that fucking Thomas and pound him good. But he couldn't. He thought himself honorable, and his cousin's actions - no brother now, ever - just made this aspect he saw in his being that much more important, that much more cherished.  
  
He felt not only anger, but a bitterness and a disappointment which were new too him. He had grown with the guy. Trained with him day after day for years. He knew Tom was headstrong. He knew he was inclined to go gung-ho. But this. This was...far too much. He had been angry when he had told Tom that he had lost his trust because of that action, but it was the truth. Some might think he was exaggerating based on too little. But he couldn't trust someone like that. Someone who'd take away the principles and morals of his family and throw it away on a stupid, base act. Maybe it made him inflexible. So be it.  
  
"Rhaa! Idiot!" he shouted. He punched the wall. The wall was unaffected. His hand, however, felt like it had been blasted apart. "Ouch, ow!" He groaned, holding his hand.  
  
"Feel better, now?"  
  
He turned and saw a worried Alex. What was that guy doing here? Had he been following him? If so, why? Oh, yeah, there was that.  
  
"I'm...less angry. Just hurt, I guess." a pause. "Sorry, I made you lose that title."  
  
Alex just waved his excuses away. "Bah, its not like what you said wasn't right. And anyway, I wasn't feeling like fighting after....that." The last word was spoken with such disgust that there could be no doubt what that meant.  
  
"Yeah. You and me both." his shoulder sagged.  
  
"Don't worry about it."  
  
"Thanks." he roused himself with an effort and tackled a new line of conversation, just to keep his mind occupied on trivial things. "You gonna stay here long?"  
  
Alex shrugged. "A few days to look around. Why?"  
  
Jeremy, for the first time in what seemed to him an eternity, smiled. "If that's right, come on. We"ll go and kidnap both my friends Nate and Claudia, then haul them somwhere we can all have fun!" he exclaimed.  
  
The giant opened his mouth, closed it, seemed utterly at a lost. He finally manage to babble about neither of them being able to drive a car.  
  
"Dont worry! My house's barely an hour's walk away and look outside. It must be not much more than two pm. Come on! Nate's a very nice guy and you'll love Claudia - when she doesn't talk. Let's go! We both need the fun. Especially me!"  
  
"But our fathers..."  
  
"Mine will know where I went - I always drop on my friends when I'm feeling down. He'll just tell your dad that you went with me, which is true! Now, no excuses! We've seen enough violence today, so let's visit non-violent people for a change."  
  
And with that, with almost desperate energy, Jeremy Storm went out the Arena, leaving a befuddled Alex. He had reached the bottom of the front steps when he noticed he wasn't being followed. He turned back to the blond whrestler. "C'mon, Al!"  
  
The giant poke his head outside. "Okay already. But let's change clothes, okay? Especially you."  
  
Jeremy looked down at himself. Sure enough, he was still in his gi. Scratching his head, he skipped back inside the arena.  
  
"Fine. I'll change. Then we go and get those two and then we'll go..." he stopped abdruptly. Alex cocked his head.  
  
"Where?" he asked.  
  
Jeremy swallowed. He clenched his fists. "Wherever my dear cousin isn't!" he said with renewed anger. He then stormed off to where his locker were, hoping Thomas wouldn't be there.  
  
Yeah, he needed Claudia's teases, Nate's funny jokes. Most of all he needed their trust and their friendship. After all, he had lost much, too much, today.  
  
And he wasn't sure he'd regain what had been lost anytime soon.  
  
__________________________________________________________  
  
Oh, yeah! Finished! Sorry it took a while. Things have just been piling up recently. But at least I'm getting some Street Fighters in now (some I mentioned, while well, Alex you should know ;))  
  
Well, I'd like to include more than one. Got any idea who? I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW!  
  
Cough.  
  
Questions, complaints, ideas? If you wish, e-mail me or just tell me what you think at the message board. Anything is appreciated!  
  
See ya all soon!  
  
Jeremy 


	5. Chapter 4

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 4  
  
February 1993  
  
Samantha Dunn squirmed and fretted in her bed, unheeding her husband who happened to sleep right next to her. She wasn't physically ill, being as healthy as a woman of twenty. The illness, if one could call it that, was rather mental, and not centered on her. It was rather centered on something she had seen that very evening, at dinner.  
  
Jeremy had come back from school, all smiles and showing a radiant demeanor. She had found it strange, especially after a day of school, and had said so. The boy had then chuckled and exclaimed that he was going on a date that very friday, with a girl named Jessica. He had then recounted how great she was, how perky and that he thought she was the very best girl in the world. Samantha had just laughed inwardly, remembering that time when she was going on dates and she had been just as joyous and energetic. This was one of the things she really missed about her youth.  
  
But then everything had gone downhill the moment Thomas had walked into the room. The large teen had overheard some of their comments and, ignoring both the warnings from his mother and his smaller cousin's dangerous looks, he hadn't waited in ridiculing the very idea of his cousin with a girl. The atmosphere, already a wary one, had gone icy and deadly. Jeremy had sneered at his cousin bitterly, retorting that if he ever had a date, he'd never stoop so low as to beat her if she prooved to be better than he at something. To his fuming cousin he had added with the spiteful glee teenagers seemed to have down so well that, anyway, the poor idiot had no chance: who'd want a violent, second-rate fighter that also happened to be a rather mediocre student?  
  
It had been all that she could do to stop things from escalating even further, and dinner had been rather cold, as the two had refused to spare each other more than a few words while she and Mattew had just looked on, rather helpless about the situation. Again.  
  
It was only the lastest of a series of similar events that had started right after the damned tournament where Tom had acted far too violently and Jeremy had reacted far too harshly and pridefully. Neither of the two stubborn youths had given the other the apologies that would have been necessary. And so the rift between the two had grown, moved along by Jeremy's inflexible ethics and Tom's incresingly spiteful attitude. To she and Mattew's dismay and sadness, the two inseparable near-brothers slowly became two increasingly distant, even wary, cousins. It hadn't been easy on her husband at all, she knew. Mattew had at first tacitely agreed with Jeremy's actions, which he still seemed to think were an honourable response to a despicable act, unknowingly speeding up the widening of the chasm between his boys. By the time he had realized that, it had, of course, been far too late.   
  
The damage was done.  
  
Since then, she had often seen sorrow in Mattew's eyes as he looked at the estranged cousins. Sorrow, and the bitter wish he had never brought the two to that tournament, where two young teenagers had found what right now seemed the end of what had been a great brotherly friendship.  
  
And as for she herself, she had no clue what to do about the situation. She only knew that she cared about the two equally. And that she desperately wanted the two to come to friendly terms. That seemed well-nigh impossible at the moment. And that, more than anything else, was killing her inside.  
  
She shifted again in her bed, and beside her a sigh was uttered.  
  
"It hasn't grown any better, has it?" whispered Mattew in the darkness of the room.  
  
Samantha wasn't surprised that her husband was awake all that time. With all of her squirming and the occasional difficulties the man had in finding sleep, he had probably been awake from the moment he had wished her a good night. Furthermore, he always seemed to know when something disturbed her, which was one of the qualities she loved most about him. Many were the times when she had been down or sad and he had simply come to her, sometimes to talk, sometimes to simply show that, whatever was wrong, he would be there.  
  
Yes, she loved him for that. And she was glad he was there at this very moment to talk to.  
  
"No, I can't say it has." she whispered back. "They look like they're making it just a little bit worse, everytime."  
  
"Yeah. I f they keep this up, they'll eventually be unable to stand each other. And that scares me."  
  
"Join the club."  
  
"Jeremy wants it to end, however." Mattew mused. Samantha looked in his general direction.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Look at the fights themselves. Its always Tom who starts it by saying something spiteful or hurtful. More than that, Jeremy makes subtle ouvertures of friendship but is always rebuked angrily. So I think Jeremy wants it to end."  
  
"And Tom doesn't?" she asked, bewildered and a little angry at him for thinking Thomas would volontarily keep up such a terrible situation. Her husband seemed to realise that for he became more soothing.  
  
"Maybe not that much, but he still feels betrayed by Jeremy." he stopped and she could feel him consider something. "That, and he's also plain jealous."  
  
"Jealous? Because Jeremy is better at school?" she asked, thought she suspected it was only scratching the surface. What her husband said confirmed it.  
  
"Because he's better at just about everything the two share. Jeremy gets 80% on a test with only the most basic of studying, while it takes Tom great efforts to reach the same grade. Don't give me that look I know you're giving me, I'm just stating facts. Jeremy also beats our other boy at the winter sports. Tom is better at summer sports because his cousin has just about no interests in them. The worst comes from fighting skills. In that aspect, I'm afraid, Thomas can't even compete. He's very good and all, but Jeremy! He's just like his mother, a fountain of raw skills that just await refining. Except for me, no one in the dojo even comes close to him, even Tom. And Jeremy's skills just keep on getting better, while Tom has more or less reached his peak. He'll be a good fighter, but Jeremy will be an exceptional fighter. And I think that's what troubling our older boy the most."  
  
"Wow." said Samantha with a low chuckle.  
  
"Wow what?" asked Mattew.  
  
"I think this is the longest speech you've done all week! I'm impressed you're not thirsty."  
  
"Err...ah...well...just wanted to make everything clear." whispered Mattew a trifle uncomfortably.  
  
"How long do you think it will last?" she asked more seriously.  
  
Mattew shrugged. "I don't know. You guess is as good as mine. It won't get better anytime soon, that's a fact. And in the meantime...heheh...I know a few ways to get ourselves thinking about something else."  
  
Samantha wondered for a moment what he meant by that. Then she felt something move under the sheets. She started, then gave off a whispered laugh.  
  
"Why you big, perverted..." she began. Mattew just laughed at her completely fake indignation. "After all that serious talk of yours, you got the mind for that?!?"   
  
"Well, why not? Its one of the best way to relieve stress. Very therapeutic and very amusing."  
  
"Noisy, too." she said, and suddenly moved over her husband, who made no attempt of pushing her off. "But, why not? Its been a while since we seriously did it." she teased. The former fighter shifted a bit at that, pretending to be miffed.  
  
"And what does that mean?!?" he asked peevishly.  
  
"You know that. But now, I'll make up for it all tonight." she promised.  
  
Mattew whistled. "That implies a lot of things."  
  
"Believe them all, my love. Believe them all..."  
  
The rest of the night was, well, relatively silent.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two weeks later...  
  
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Keep in focus. Don't lose it. Keep the beat. One, two, three, four.  
  
Jeremy had more problems than usual in keeping up with his routine. Every saturday morning, at six, he ate four raw eggs (far more for the nutritional value than for the taste) and went throught two hundred push-ups, squats and sit-ups and a twenty-minutes streching meditation. Following that little bit of preparation (which would finish anyone lacking his sometimes unshakable stubborness) he ran in the snow for two miles to hone the strength of his legs and to boost his speed. It was a regimen of exercices he had taken after putting himself throught a training session that Alex, his rather immense friend, had thought rather easy. He had been so beat that he had known he had to step up his training by quite a few notches if he didn't want to get beaten to a pulp the day the two would engage all-out like they promised they would. And so the training had begun in earnest. He tried to squeeze all the strength, speed and energy in his body in order to upgrade these very three little by little. And it was working. Already, he was faster, stronger and possessed a far greater endurance than those who were considered 'normal' fourteen years old. And he planned on getting stronger.  
  
But today, for some reason, he couldn't make it work just as well as the other times.  
  
Scratch that, he told himself ruefully, you know EXACTLY why its not working. True enought. He was seeing Melissa today. And thinking of her made his training a paltry thing by comparison. Sometimes all he seemed to be able to think about was that red-haired, stunningly beautiful bit of a woman who - oh, lucky him! - had just happened to like him enought to date him. Not that he hadn't seen girls being attracted to him. His athletic body attracted more than one pair of female eyes. However, most of these gazes were for the body only, bypassing all the training and mind-focussing that had gone with it to shape it. Some, he had seen, took it all in stride, but he couldn't. His mild manners couldn't. And his damnable ethics certainly couldn't. He found he expected a lot in a relationship, and lost interest of those girls without these expectations rather quickly.  
  
But then that girl had just come around and sat by him at the library, and had started talking to him with only slight lust in her eyes. That had pleased him, and so had the conversation, that had been very deep and centered on a variety of subjects, none of which touching martial arts or training. He soon found out that the girl had a very bright mind to match her looks. She talked about things that Jeremy sometimes had to run along fast to catch up with her trail of conversation. Her smile was dazzling, he soon found out. He really wondered why she bothered with him at all. After all, althought he was a good student, he wasn't a very social type. In fact he made a point to mildly put aside social situations. He just didn't feel like he fitted in those. And there he was making one of the most idle chats of his life. Even Claudia had never manged talks like those.  
  
When it had been time to go back to class, she had just dropped, "I like your style, Jeremy Storm." which had left him to wonder about her all the rest of the day. The day afterward, they had chatted again. And the day after. By that time other students were starting to give them knowing smiles that made him uncomfortable. After all, he was just talking! What was wrong with that?!? He made a point to glare at any of those who gave him that look. It didn't work well. Althought Thomas had taken to being intimidating - which hadn't helped the smaller Storm in trying to make up with him - he had not, in fact had tried to be as non-threatening has a one who was known as the "Best Fighter In School" -an honour he hadn't sought or wanted - could be. All that he had managed to do, in fact, was to render the knowing looks even more knowing.  
  
But his annoyance had faded when he started having real feelings about this girl. He felt better than anywhere else when with her, he found. Soon the conversations, stirred by his feelings - which she started to return - became more intimate. And then one day she just arrived, sat and asked him out. He had been struck speechless for one of the few times in his life, his brain understanding the information yet somehow refusing to let him show any reaction. He had managed to babble a vague affirmative. That they, he had announced his excitement to his Aunt -and almost beat Tom senseless for his ridiculous comment, how those fights were beginning to be frequent!. Two days later, they had gone to see a movie. They had been dating constantly ever since.  
  
He sighed, slowing his pace as he came within sight of Mattew's dojo, still closed. He fished the spare key out of his pockets and jogged to the door. He unlocked it and stepped inside. No one. He wasn't surprised. Today was saturday, and Mattew always closed on saturday. However, he and Tom were free to use the place to train if need be. A few months before, he might have brought Tom along, too. But no more. Firstly, because he and the larger Storm were barely on speaking terms these days, and getting into a fight again was the last thing he wanted before going out on a date. The second reason was harder to admit. It was that Thomas no longer was really a match for him. He'd seen it more and more the past few months. Thomas was still learning to master some black belt - sometimes brown belt - techiniques, while he had only to refine them. Thanks to his grandfather, he was starting to understand and bring an inkling of control over his chi, while Tom obviously had no real talent for it. Yes, his skills were better than Tom's. It wasn't even egotism. After all, everyone could see it.  
  
What he needed to sort this all out was to get himself some meditation. Yes, that was it. It always helped him before. It was a refreshing experience, being able to delve into the complex thrends of his mind and find peace.   
  
He shrugged out of his winter outfit, removed his socks, and stepped on the tatamis, making the karate gesture of respect before doing so. Strange, one might say, that he'd have to do so when he was alone. In fact, he didn't. It just seemed the ethical thing to do. When ones does something respectful in front of others, he should also do so in front of oneself, he sometimes said about it to other karate students. Thinking about it, he found it no surprise some people found him strange.  
  
Oh, well.  
  
He sat cross-legged, took a few deep breaths to stabilise himself, then started to draw inside himself. He looked in his mind's eyes at all the colours of his emotions. Blue for sadness, red for pain, white for joy. All colours interwining and making him into what he was, who he was, and what he felt. He soon found the power that surrounded all these thoughts. Hi chi. All, according to his grandfather, had chi. Only few knew about it, fewer still knew how to tap it. He was glad to be among those, at least. And it wasn't because this could allow him to progress even farther as fighter, but rather because he could enjoy his own mind and come to a better underrstanding of himself. There, the chi starts to flow. He felt it, embraced it, let it overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and tasted in the blissful energies of his own inner self.  
  
"HELP ME!"  
  
The cry was so desperate and so strong that it fairly bashed him out of his trance, sending him crashing backward, clutching his skull. He tried to regain his inner calm, but now his very thoughts had been shaken by the urgency of the call. His head hurt and spun, forcing him to lie back. He heard a growling moan, and realized it was he himself who was making that noise.  
  
After what seemed an eternity, his head stopped throbbing infernally, and he was able to think again clearly. However, his calm hadn't returned at all. Quite the opposite. He tried to de fine what he had felt. The voice - was it really a voice? - had been so deformed by fear that he was unable to put anything realistic on it. He thought it might be a female voice, but then again how could he be sure? He had never felt anything like it before.  
  
He froze mentally. That wasn't true. He had felt something like this before. About two years ago, when he had tried to access his chi, he had also suffered a backlash. Only then there were strange, uncoherent sentences, much like a dream. It had shaken him badly, so badly he had stopped his attempts for months. However, in time he had come to think of it all as an hallucination brought by his unwise methods and an overactive imagination.  
  
Well, scratch that this time. Whatever that had been, it had been all too real to be a trick of his imagination. Never in all his life had he heard such fright in someone. Even the best of actors he saw in thrillers and other movies didn't come close to the raw despair, the absolute terror, he had felt in the words 'help me'. He found that he really wished to help that person. Very much so. But he had no idea where this person might be. Or WHO she was. Or even if it was really a SHE. But he knew that something terrible was happening to someone, somewhere. What could be done to that person, obviously someone who understood chi at least a little, to generate such abject terror? He shuddered. The possibilities weren't very rejoicing.  
  
Great, that's it, he thought unhappily, my day is ruined. I won't be thinking of Melissa now, but of that person who's obviously in drastic brands of troubles. Life really knew how to make things hard on someone sometimes. There was no way he'd get his meditation now, with all of his internal questioning. At least his head didn't hurt like the last time this had happened. But his wits still felt scattered. He got up, and assumed a fighting stance. If he couldn't do meditation, he'd do a few katas, which were just as satisfying if not as psychically refreshing. After the first few moves, however, he didn't lose himself to the flow of movements but once again to his own questionning.  
  
Okay, first time this happened I heard myself - or a slightly older myself - saying a few sentences that were rather incoherent. I could almost feel it was a dream. He frowned, his movements breaking up as he lost his concentration. But I'd swear on anything that this voice was REAL. That plea was real. And it wasn't something that happened in the future, but right now. Which meant there was no way he could help. Even if he knew who it was, the chances he'd be close enought to help would be impossible. And the impossible had always grated him to no ends. He supposed it might be a blessing, for that way of thinking had been what had made augment his skills constantly. After all, he was very close, his grand-father had admitted, to being able to master the Eagle Strike. And from the hints he had received, there were other techniques waiting after that, techniques that even his uncle didn't know. He found he couldn't wait.  
  
But right now, hie inability to accept something as impossible was nothing short of a curse.  
  
While he had been thinking that hard, his body had continued the complicated kata, but not as perfectly as it should have been, indeed would have been, if he'd been paying attention. In fact, at one point he went a bit to close to the wall and, his mind not registering that fact, his hand shot out and went smack against the wall. Jeremy broke up his kata immediately, crying out and rubbing his hand, and he would have cursed himself if it hadn't felt it rather blasphemous to curse on a training tatami. As he was rubbing his rather wounded hand, he heard soft laughter and looked in that direction, dismayed that he hadn't felt a presence before. He expected to find Tom, and prepared for another verbal fight.  
  
Instead he saw Claudia, wso was sitting just beside the traning field, looking at him in merriment. Althought he relaxed at knowing it there wouldn't be a fight, he also reddened in silent shame at his fumbling, which was inexcusable by the standards he was trying hard to attain. Claudia obviously saw this, but he still tried to maintain his dignity.  
  
"I shouldn't have tried it so close to the wall." he deadpanned.  
  
"You shouldn't have lost your concentration, you mean. I'm not an idiot, Sir Storm." Drat, she had seen it. Nothing left but salvage now.  
  
"And I don't think you are, Lady Levenson. I was just trying to look a little less the fool."  
  
"You failed that."  
  
"Which is why I was trying to be flattering."  
  
"Failed that, too!"   
  
"My, aren't you merciful today." he sighed. Then a thought struck him. "Been here long?"  
  
She shook her head. "Nah. Just came 'round a few seconds before you smashed up your hand."  
  
He nodded, relieved. She hadn't seen his little hysterics. Good. The last thing he needed was to explain those to her. "So what brought you here? Except the need to make me feel like a fool, I mean."  
  
She swept her her blond locks off of her forehead. Even in a winter parka, she was stunning, and becoming more so by the day. She could have had any guy at school without the shadow of a problem. However...  
  
"I got a letter from Alex today!" she declared excitedly, with wide, happy eyes.  
  
However, she had gotten hitched - and badly - by someone who lived about a hundred miles down south. And he supposed he was to blame, thought he didn't feel bad about it. When, after the disastrous tournament, he had dragged the young wrestler to meet his friends, it had taken about fifteen minutes before Both Nathan and him had felt that they were disrupting some kind of very sappy romance. That Claudia had spent just about every single moment glued - if it was possible, fused - to Alex, to the big blond's obvious bliss, hadn't escaped the notice of either of the smaller boys. The soirée had thus been quite a bit a miracle for a boy and a girl, and a very weird experience for two other young males. And it had continued. And it was still continuing. Even thought he lived a hundred miles south. Even thought he couldn't visit more than once a month - during which Jeremy, who styled himself his friend, saw him little. Even thought all that they had were letters. Wow. He really couldn't do anything but admire the tenacity of their bond. He hoped the same with Melissa. But it was still a bit early to make any plans on that.  
  
"So, what did that mobile mountain write you, huh?" changing the subject and the flow of his thoughts at the same time. She flushed slightly, and he couldn't help but grin "Except the oh-so-personal parts, of course." he added with a wry tint in his voice  
  
"Hum...he's just fine. He told me he gotta part-time job at a flower shop."  
  
"Whaa? A flower shop?!? Him?!?"  
  
Jeremy desperatly tried to live with the mental image of the enormous sixteen-year old cheerfully selling flowers, but immediately found that it was so hilarious he just couldn't and despite himself, he started to giggle like a fool. Probably burning steamed at him for making fun of her "perfect" boyfriend, Claudia shot him a dark look. It didn't help. Truth be told, it only made matters worse. From giggles he erupted into guffaws that litterally shook the rafters. He laughed so hard, but it felt so good, it had been such a long while since he had had a long laugh like that. He soon found himself flat on his back, with the ceiling his only sight. He remained there, enjoying the relaxation and frantically trying to stiffle his mirth.  
  
"I should've known you'd react like that." she growled. "He wrote you would, too, you know."  
  
"Hehehe...And...hee...he was right, like always." He put his hands behind his head and sighed deeply. "Thanks for telling me, though. I really needed the laugh."  
  
She looked at him with a very shrewed look, her usual naive facade fading very quickly. This was one of Claudia's most useful trick: she could show an happy, airhead-like outlook to people who didn't know her, therefore giving those a superior - and reckless - feel that she often used against those who really irked her. With her friends, however, she used it to make them relax. This was one of the reasons that he was so often so glad she was his friend before, that he was close to this beautiful, cheerful but deceptively intelligent blond. This was one of those times.  
  
"Is it Tom?" she asked.  
  
It wasn't. Not this time. But then again, she couldn't know about his...what were they anyway, experiences? Only his grandfather knew, because he was the only one who seemed to understand it a bit of what was happening. Jeremy knew he didn't. But Tom was another problem he had, one that he easily could tell her about. He doubted it would change anything, but at least he could clear the air a little bit. After all, Nate and Claudia had stuck by him and not Tom when things had gotten hot after the tournament. He knew he talk to them.  
  
"I must say that yeah, its partly him." He hurried on before she could ask about the unknown 'parts'. "I don't know how to take him anymore, Claudia. These days, I can't seem to even be able to see his face without getting into a shouting match."  
  
"You, shout?" she smiled. "Jer, that's not your style."  
  
"No, its definitely not my style. Usually. Most of the time. Except with him." he replied.  
  
"Can't you two just sit and talk it over like grown-ups, you know?"  
  
"I'm afraid its a big no-can-do. We both refused to apologise. I'm no better there. We both think we are right. And most of all, we're both as stubborn as bulls chasing after a red flag! How can we sit quietly in the same room, even more so, how to talk over that?. Its sad, you know, but I really don't think we'll forgive each other pretty soon. We're just both like that. No more, no less." he looked away.  
  
He knew Claudia was looking at him soberly, her soft features an image of concern. "That's one big shame, you know." she finally stated, obviously feeling Jeremy's conflicting anger and deep sadness.  
  
He only nodded, his face completly shadowed but showing that very conflict. Silence now reigned in the dojo. It became so thick that finally Claudia, as he had known, couldn't bear it and broke it again.  
  
"By the way, while we're talking about fighting, when are you going to start testing those skills of yours?"  
  
That took him by surprise. Of all people, he hadn't thought that she would be the one to bring that up. Mattew, yes. Grandpa, yes. Tom, well, maybe. Even Nathan. But not Claudia. Maybe it was because Alex was her boyfriend. He couldn't be sure. But he had to admit that the question had merits. Lots of that. He simply wasn't sure of how to answer it right now. Sure, he liked having those ever-increasing skills and seeing his training pay off, but to go out on the streets to challenge strong fighters, like his uncle and his parents had done...it just seemed a big step to take. Maybe too big.  
  
"Bah. Dunno about that. As soon as I feel like it. Maybe when I feel I gotta reason to." he shrugged noncommitally. "Did Alex ask about that? Or was it just an idea you got all of a sudden?"  
  
"About asking this? Its all mine. But I know Alex wants to know about it. He's told me he'd like to slug it out good with you when you think you're ready, when you're at you're max and 'pumped up'."  
  
Jeremy laughed softly. "He WOULD say that, huh?!? I'll hint it to him that it'll happen eventually but that I can't make promises as to the exact time I'll be 'pumped up'. He'll just have to be patient for a while."  
  
Claudia nodded at him as he turned to finally look in her direction. Then her stance assumed a much more lecherous outlook. It made Jeremy worry. He soon found the reason for that, however. "Now that all that is settled, what are you going to do with Melissa tonight." she asked with a strange smile.  
  
"Certainly nothing that's worth what's going throught that perverted little mind of yours, you blond Machiavel! Alex is lucky to have you, but he'll suffer so much with you that I pity him!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Oh, come ooon! As if nothing's going on inside YOUR mind!" she teased.  
  
He turned red. "W-w-ell...only because you just put those thoughts into me!"  
  
"Yeah, right!"  
  
"CLAUDIA!!!!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
That evening...  
  
Three guys were strolling outside, unaware of the cold and the companionship of true friends. It wasn't a very cold night anyway. Perfect to hang out into town and wash away their trouble behind a few quaffs of strong beverage. Not that they were drunk, mind you. They were in full possession of their wits. Which is the reason one of them, looking around while he smiled from a particularly funny joke told by one of his friends, noticed the crumpled and prone form that was just beside the walkway. Had he been looking just a bit elsewhere, he would've missed it. As it was, he almost thought it was an homeless person sleeping on the street - althought he would have found a better place than that! - before he noticed that the clothes were way too....clean, for lack of a better word, to be the property of an homeless person. He squinted at the figure and went over to look at it. His friends, who had been ahead, stopped whenthey realized he wasn't in the immediate area and looked for him. They soon spotted him, and walked over to him.  
  
"Hey, Max! No fair leaving us like that without saying a word!!" laughed one.  
  
"Just for that, the next drinks will be on you!" stated the other with a cackle.  
  
The guy named Max wasn't really paying attention to them. He went closer to the figure. Maybe the person had passed out from drinking too much. He had, once or twice, when he had been out partying before. Or maybe it was something worse. Not a good thought that. Extremely ugly. But unavoidable in the circumstances. He stooped over the person, gave a nudge. Nothing. Feeling like a fool, really not knowing what he'd say if the person was just drunk, he gently pushed the face towards the hazy light of the street lamp, just to make out the situation better.  
  
His friends, still a distance away, couldn't see what he was doing, and subsequently grew tired of what to them seemed a complete waste of time that could be spent doing better things like drinking and laughing at jokes and flirting with pretty girls.   
  
"Come on, man! The guy's just sleeping off some booze. He'll wake up with a headache and no more than that!" one grumbled.  
  
"Yeah, but maybe he'd get hurt during the night. And for all that, it'll get cold during the night." noted the other.  
  
"Aw, come on! What do you want us to do 'bout it? Invite the guy home?!? Or maybe, if its a gal, you'd prefer!"  
  
"SHIT!"  
  
Max's shout brought the two out of their petty fight and smack back into the real world. They saw their, friend, just a few meters away now, backpedalling as if he'd been bitten by a huge snake. He was shaking his head quickly, as if trying to deny what he had just seen. The two men exchanged a worried galance, then, their stomachs beginning to clench in a unidentifiable dread, they sprinted the distance and reached him in a mere moment.  
  
"Hey, man, what's wrong?" asked the one who, just a second before, had been all for letting a drunken person freeze at night. Max didn't answer, just stared ahead toward the prone person. Both men trudged forward, anticipation and curiosity overtaking them. Only a few steps, and then they saw things clearer. Then they understood their friend completely. They really didn't want to, but they did.  
  
"Holy...of all the...this is...this is inhuman!" croaked one.  
  
Max, at that, started to come to his sense. He looked at his friends. "We gotta go get an ambulance. Get help! Watch him, okay?" He sped towards the nearest lighted door. His friends stared after him for a moment, then, reluctantly, looked back at the form.  
  
"Sure. But, in his state, he won't be moving much."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Unseen from the men, a figure stood in the darkness, looking over at things with sadistic amusement. How wussy people could be. Show them something just a little bit harsh and they scatter. These men had no spirit, ni inner fire, no will to fight. Not worthy of his time. Anyway, he wasn't as angry at them as he had been with his latest plaything. Now, that one had fought. Desperately. Tooth and nail. With every once of his being. Now that, the figure respected.  
  
Very brave.  
  
Very honorable.  
  
Quite futile. But it had been fun.  
  
The figure felt no remorse over what it had done. It had to be done. The victim knew far too much, had betrayed the trust of a friend. Such a fiend deserved punishment. Deserved the most atrocious of deaths. Peaceful, cleansing death. Such a moving moment, to feel the victim at your mercy, and to know - oh yes, to know - that you will clean her of the betrayal that has darkened her soul. It wasn't something people seemed to understand, to his growing surprise. Still, the figure thought, hadn't it once been like this - unknowing of the severe nature of betrayal. Of the evil nature of betraying wills? Of the fate of death as part of the cleansing of the soul. Probably. It thought so. But it was in a time long gone, now. A time when youth dilluted betrayal.  
  
Thankfully, he saw things clearly, now.  
  
One of the three men squeaked "...this is...this is inhuman!" The figure smirked. Blind fool! What he had done was the only thing he could have done, the most humane thing, the most merciful. But how could such simpletons know? How could anyone know. They didn't see the truth. They never saw the burning of betrayal, the joy of revenge and death's cleansing. Inhuman? Inhuman? What could be more human but to save a soul that had lost its way to betrayal. It was written. It had to be. It is the only truth.  
  
As the figure moved away, unseen, it kept mumbling the same sentence, over and over, like a litany.  
  
It is ONLY truth.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
A few hours later...  
  
Melissa Chastel was as happy as she could get. After weeks of hints and secondhand remarks, Jeremy had finally agreed to a full date with her. It wasn't an easy task. Sometimes she had had to hint things far too openly for her taste, and he had been nearly clueless. At first disappointed and frustrated, she soon found out that her would-be boyfriend wasn't really clueless about her intentions, but was just searching for the best way to reciprocate. After learning this, she decided to become even more direct in her dealings with him, something she had felt that he greatly liked. Obviously Jeremy Storm wasn't a big fan of innuendos and dubious hints.  
  
Althought they had seen each other outside of school before, this was the first time she had gotten him to commit an entire evening to her, something that she felt as a great victory. After all he had once summerized his life as fourty percent training and thirty for anything else, and thirty percent sleeping. She had found that it was only too true, as she heard that, of all the school, he was by far the best when it came down to hand-to-hand combat, and a first-rate athlete that team captains actually fought to have in their team. Not that he cared much about sports, as long as they didn't interfere with his martial arts. The fanatic - Jeremy balked when he heard her use that word, but she felt it was true - way he had of training had given him a lean, muscled body that, added to his reserved looks and grey eyes, made many a female head turn. She certainly wasn't an exception to that rule, althought she herself, she knew, wasn't too bad in the way of looks.  
  
But there were other cute guys. So why this one? That was a question she was often asked. Her answer was the same every time.  
  
It was first because Jeremy had a great sense of right and wrong, but made concessions for a bit of grey - not much, of course, but more than many a boy did at fourteen! He also was extremely mild-mannered in conversations, rarely bragging or harsh. That she had liked a lot about him. But what she had liked the most was the degree of devotion he gave to what he believed in. He believed friendship was important, and thus was exceptionally close to his - especially the naive blonds and the thin, long haired boy. What were the names? Ah, yes, Claudia and Nathan. He was always there for them, no matter what. It was that devotion that she found she craved. That she was starting to get it made her almost extatic.  
  
This night had been perfect. First they had taken a bite at a nice place, then they had gone to see that movie, Groundhog Day, they had both laughed at Bill Murray's antics. And now they were going, heedless of the cold, to a teen disco nearby. Yes, it was perfect.  
  
"I liked that movie. Pretty funny, no?" she asked.  
  
"Huh? Ah, yes, it was." he said absent-mindedly. He really had the look of someone who was entirely elsewhere. Frowning, she tried to bring back the warmth that had been there in the theatre. What could he be thinking, anyway?  
  
"The part about the insurance agent, wasn't it pretty good?" she asked, trying again.  
  
He only nodded ansent-mindedly. Melissa started to feel quite a bit frustrated. They were on a date, for Heaven' Sake! That meant a minimum of conversation. But nooo, her date had to go and play the introspective act. One fault of his, too much introspection. A very big fault and a supremely annoying one. She smiled to herself. If that was the way it was...fine.  
  
"Did you like the part with the snowman?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
"Don't you think it'd be fun to be stuck in the same day, over and over?"  
  
"Yeah, of course."  
  
"Do you want me to kiss you?"  
  
"Huh, huh, sure. Wha...mmm!"  
  
She kissed him full on the lips right then and there, not caring a bit if the situation was as unromantic as it could get, with them in winter gear, freezing, and passerby giving them looks ranging from amused to irritated. He stood rigid, visibly thunderstruck by the sudden turn of events. But, for a moment, he responded tentatively, before finally coming to his senses and disengaging himself. He was as red as an apple and she knew with secret amusement that it wasn't because of the cold. There! Try to ignore THAT!!!  
  
For a moment, he stood there motionless, before finally bursting out. "What was that for?!? Not that I MIND but, still, a little warning would be nice."  
  
"You did have a warning. I asked you and you said sure." she retorted.  
  
"Really? Guess I wasn't paying attention. Sorry."  
  
She shook her head. "And what were you thinking about? How to become the World's Strongest Fighter?"  
  
He smiled. There was a sad quality to that smile. "Nothing so grand. I was just thinking that, only a year ago, I would have gone with my cousin to see that movie. Now I can't ask the time of day of him."  
  
"Oh." was all she said. She was uncomfortable with anything regarding the cousin. There was something about him she didn't like. Something harsh in his eyes that Jeremy lacked. She never said so, but the guy litterally gave her the shivers. She decided to let the matter drop.  
  
"Okay. But now focus on ME, right? I don't want you to step all over me when we dance because you're distracted!"  
  
"Yes, sir!" he said ironically, making a vague salute. They both laughed, and the moment of uncertainty passed.  
  
The walk to the disco was interrupted, however. Before they were even there halfway, they heard a frantic voice and saw, to their surprise, Claudia running towards them. Melissa, thinking she had decided to join them on a whim, was more than a little displeased. Althought she liked what she knew of the blonde, she had that capacity to control Jeremy and Nathan that could be downright scary.   
  
However, as she came closer, she saw that the blonde girl wasn't there for the fun of it. Her winter clothes were a bit haphazard, which showed she had put her clothes on very quickly. But what struck Melissa was her face. Streaked with tears, her face was haggard and had a wild look to it. There was shock on that face. And fear. And something else. Horror. No, whatever brought her here was deadly serious.  
  
Obviously, Jeremy had come to the same conclusion, for he seemed quite worried. He opened his mouth to say something, but didn't get the chance to say anything before he was rammed by a way smaller body than his. He tried to make sense of Claudia, as Melissa also tried to, while the blonde clung to him desperately, alternately sobbing and shrieking, her words tumbling over each other and absolutely incoherent. Jeremy finally gripped her firmly.  
  
"Calm down, Claudia! Calm down! What's wrong? Tell me what's wrong!!" he shouted, finally manging to break her out of her hysteria.   
  
"God. Ohgodohgod! Jer. Nate! Nate! It's horrible!!" she screamed. People were starting to come and see. The trio ignored them.  
  
"What about Nate? What's happened?" he asked worriedly.  
  
"Nate! He got beaten! Beaten like a dog! Its horrible! His face..." she broke into sobs.  
  
"Beaten? Nate? How bad?" he asked. Her sobs gave him answers enough. He hugged her tightly. Then he looked at Melissa with worried grave eyes. "Sorry, Melissa. I gotta go see what's happened."  
  
Melissa nodded. "I'll go with you."  
  
Jeremy shook his head. "You don't need to do that. I don't want to ruin the rest of your day." he said.  
  
"Too late for that. I'm going" she stated firmly.  
  
He only nodded to her before turning his attention back to Claudia. The girl was still sobbing. What could have happened? How was Nathan really? Alive? Dead? These questions, Jeremy was certainly asking himself. And they would certainly found the answers to those soon enough.  
  
That they wouldn't like them, she was, looking at the whreck called Claudia Levenson, absolutely certain.  
  
_______________________________________________________________________  
  
That's it for this chapter! I know, no action to speak of, only plot lines. Next chapter, I promise, will contain more bashing. But remember, I'm trying to explain the characters so that people will understand why they act this or that way when they really are amongst the World Warriors we know.  
  
Any input or ideas would be GREATLY APPRECIATED!   
  
See ya soon!  
  
Jeremy 


	6. Chapter 5

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 5  
  
January 4, 1995  
  
It was four days before the Senior League Karate Tournament, and Jeremy didn't feel like practicing. In fact, he pretty much didn't want to move at all. The reason was a common flu. A very annoying, incredibly strong, stubborn common flu. Result, a sixteen-year old martial arts expert had been transformed into a grumpy and tired teenager of the most ordinary mettle. After all, colds couldn't have cared less if he was THE favorite to winning the newest tournament. And one decided that, after all, a bit of normalcy might be good for the man. Otherwise, Jeremy might have thought himself better than others.  
  
Well, not really. But, to him, it really seemed like a personal attack and he wasn't taking it very well. Mattew knew it when he came up, carrying some hot soup Samantha had ordered - what were the words - "that whinny little kid" to chug down whether he wanted it or not. Thus, the elder man's situation was set.  
  
Mattew knocked on the closed door. Nothing stirred. A weary sigh escaped the grey-haired martial artist. Why were sick youths so difficult to deal with. He knocked again. This time there was a stir, and the sentence "Just lebbe alode do die id peace!" Accurately translating the sentence, Mattew chuckled and entered. Sure enough, in the middle of a not-so-tidy room was a bed on which dwelled a cocoon made of tangled sheets and irate street fighter wannabes. He set the soup on the study table and turning around, administered a soft, playful kick to the prone bundle. The effect was immediate. There was a yelp, and a brown-haired, sick face poked out of one end, glaring at him with puffy eyes.  
  
"You just have to have your fun with defenseless, sick people, huh uncle?" was the irritated growl. Irritation tended to make Jeremy's nose better, allowing him his full voice.  
  
"You're neither as defenseless nor as sick as you're saying you are. Now be a good boy and eat the soup Samantha just made, or else." A smile at that. Jeremy raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Else?"  
  
"Else you'll go down on the very suicidal purpose of telling your aunt you don't want to eat it. Death by strangulation is rumored to be painful and stiff. But anyway, if you want to find out..." Mattew trailed away, spreading his arms, his eyes twinkling.  
  
Tired as he was, Jeremy couldn't help but snort, which quickly transformed into a sneeze. Fighting to breathe again, he gestured in surrender. "I'll eat it up. I'b too young do die. Sadists." He moved himself to a sitting position. "Sorry if I'b so grubpy. Just that the tibing is a-a-A-ATCHOO-snif-atrocious, to say the least." He took the steaming bowl and began to eat up.  
  
Mattew shrugged. "Bah! In four days, you'll be fine. A little stiff maybe, but then, you've gone to do a few things with a worse handicap, am I right." A noncommital sound was all the answer he had to that one. "Come on, now. You've matched yourself with the best opponents your age you could find since last year, and you've got a long trail of victories behind you. So cheer up a little."  
  
"I could," he said, the soup obviously doing wonders for his stuffy nose, "if I didn't know many of those victories were pretty narrow, and that'll face the best karate people in the region."   
  
"Yes, well, had you used a good Eagle Strike or even one of those Flare Claws your grandpa showed you a while ago..."  
  
"No!" Jeremy half-shouted, thencoughed as his body reminded him it wasn't up to speed yet. "I'm no using any chi-based attack unless I'm in terrible danger or my opponent shows definite signs of having the same edge as me." he finished more quietly.  
  
"I know, I know." soothed Mattew gravely. "And I agree with you, boy. I really do. My point is just that you're already a step higher than most, and you're still climbing. Heh, you're roughly my level now, and before you're seventeen I think you'll be higher. So don't worry! Unless you meet someone exceptional - and I'm not saying you won't but still, it'd be quite the coincidence - most of the opponents you'll face will be well-trained youths, yes, but not as dangerous as some of the street kids you've been messing around with."  
  
"You and dad used to 'mess' around with street kids at my age. Grandpa told me that himself."  
  
Mattew looked a little embarassed at that, but decided to forge ahead. "Harrumph! My point being - stop worrying so needlessly. You win, you win. You lose, you lose. Nothing's simpler."  
  
"Oh yeah? Melissa'll be there, Claudia'll be there. Even Alex has showed up for this! Now I know I'm better than many of those but the best among them'll be trouble! And if I'm stiff and fatigued, I'll really lose. I think that's why dear Tom's coming too. He's wishing me to lose...badly." he finished acidely, discarding the now-finished bowl of soup.  
  
The elder man frowned in disapproval. "Now, there, Jeremy. I think you're overreacting with Tom..." he went no further as a bitter chuckle stopped him. Jeremy laid back and stared at the ceiling then, silently. No noise was heard from the two for a long moment.  
  
"He does want that." he sighed. "He's wanted it since he had the hare-brained idea Tom challenge me publicly."  
  
Mattew couldn't help but wince slightly as he painfully recalled the incident. Not that he had been there. No, Jeremy and Thomas told him, each in their own way, and a quiet talk with Melissa and Claudia had gleaned up the blank spots. According to the global account, Jeremy and Melissa were flirting slightly with each other at school, when Tom had come barging in, and told Jeremy in front of half a cafeteria that he wasn't a true fighter where it counted, at heart. Even now, no one could really explain what had possessed his son. Still, it had started an argument that had ended up with a challenge from Tom that they fought each other to prove their views. It was clear from both Jeremy and Melissa's accounts that the smaller Storm thought the whole thing ridiculous. But, publicly, he found he couldn't back down. The fight was set for after school.  
  
The time came. So did Tom, Jeremy and half the school. After exchanging some formalities, the fight had started. Barely a minute later, it was over. Tom laid dazed on the ground, bruised, while Jeremy was just walking away, a little shamefully, with no marks to show for his trouble. According to Claudia, who knew from both friend and boyfriend details of a fight, Jeremy had had the upper hand from the beginning, showing an uncanny speed and amazing reflexes. Tom supposedly got barely half a dozen kicks and punches in, which had been partially deflected as to render them all but useless. Tom, on the other hand, had been hard-pressed to keep up his defense as a flurry of well-honed fists and feet battered him, finding their mark more often than not. It was no wonder he had collapsed so soon.  
  
Mattew sighed. Thinking about this thing, this rift of bitterness that grew between his son and the one who was his son in all but blood, really saddened him. The two were barely on talking terms now, each but a step away from open hostility. No, no. Since that fight, only Jeremy was still refraining from being hostile. And there was nothing he could do. How it sickened him with grief.  
  
The melancolic moment was broken when a small ball of energy zoomed into the room, carrying with it laughter and innocence. It stopped in front of him and there stood Mary-Ann Storm, his two year old daughter. A spitting image of her mother, she possessed brown curls and vibrant eyes decorating a round, happy face. The only thing she had inherited from him was the rather hawkish nose all Storms seemed to have to an extent.  
  
"Jer! Mommy said you eat or she come!" she chirped gaily in the shrill voice of babies, unaware that what she had relayed was threat.  
  
Jeremy laughed at that. "Countries should send ultimatums via springballs like you. There'd never be wars! Tell mommy that I ate the soup, okay?"  
  
"'Kay! You more sick? Wanna teddy for sleep?" she inquired, her face showing the innocence that had made her loved and spoiled by the other four members of the family.  
  
"Nah! I'll be alright!" her face went down a bit and Jeremy visibly backtracked rapidly. "I'm sure the teddy's more happy with you. I'm way too big, now. There's no place for him."  
  
Her little face lighted again, and she turned to Mattew with all the seriousness that a two-year old could manage. It was all the elder man could do not to laugh. He had never thought having her was a mistake, but at times like these she was a true blessing - the innocence all of them had lost either long ago or a while ago.  
  
"Daddy, mommy said she'd spank you if you don't go down to eat with her." she said solemnly. She really looked as if she had given something very serious and dire to her father, not an inside joke that had been running between the two for as long as they had been married. But althought he was able to refrain from laughter, Jeremy was unable to do so completely. A short laugh escaped him, which he tried to cover with a cough. Which was, of course, the worst thing he could have gone, as his weakened lungs nearly cut off, strangling him. The teenager finally hid his head in his pillow, his shoulders quivering with silent laughter. Mary-Ann looked at him worriedly.  
  
"Are you crying, Jer?" she asked worriedly. She seemed to want to comfort him, and went to pat his muscled shoulder seriously. "Don't cry. I'm sure mommy won't spank daddy."  
  
And that was it. Jer finally burst forth in guffaws, tear-eyed, trying to control his breathing. Even Mattew couldn't help but chuckling at the innocent antics of his youngest child. He went and took a the confused two year old in his arms. "I think Jer will be just fine, honey. Let's be off and see mom. Are you okay, Jeremy?"  
  
The youth had retreated under his sheets, which rattled because of the mirth the sick young man was trying to suppress. "Glg....yeah....prfhehe...w-whatever. Get heh-her out before she kills me with another line like that." wafted from the bundle. Mattew smiled. He took the empty bowl with him and left, closing the door behind him. Chuckles he could still hear from the other side of the door. He shook his head as he descended the stairs.  
  
In his arms, the little girl was completely lost. "I said a wrong thing, daddy?"  
  
Mattew smiled widely. "No, my little golden heart. You just did something very right for him. Very right indeed." He's been so needing to laugh lately.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
Corporal Steve Hemmerson didn't like the job he'd been given. In fact, he really loathed it. Of course, he had never said so. Never complained. Not a peep, not a word. Protests just weren't part of his character. When he had a job given to him, he saw it throught no matter what happened. It was that kind of attitude that made him so grudgingly admired by other soldiers and so appreciated by the higher-ups. But he could still find jobs lame, and he found that one as lame as any he'd ever seen.  
  
What kind of job is that anyway, to go see a damn tournament just because of of them has skills that the commanders seem to find useful. he thought rather bitterly. What am I supposed to do, go up to him and make a psychological profile of the guy? I'm a soldier, a fighter. Not some...some shrink, dammit! Oh man, couldn't they have sent some else?!? Mark, or Cindy, they'd have liked it! But no, it had to be me. And just because I am a fighter, it seems.   
  
Hemmerson chided himself for such childish thoughts - thoughts he'd been having ever since that particular job had been given. Major Brisby had been very adamant about it, something having to do with enlarging the Shadowcrusher Division. He sniffed. The damn UK Gouvernment should have enlarged it long before now, but petty politics had gotten in the way. Politics. Wasted words, wasted money and far too much wasted energy. That's what he thought of it. But everything ran by money and politics. Even MI6, even the SCD. It really sicknened him.  
  
Shaking himself off such gloomy thoughts, he started to do his evening exercises, starting with two hundred push-ups - a light start, to warm his muscles. Then he'd start for real. Yeah, a good bit of sweating, that's what he needed. Not that he needed the exercice. At twenty-one, the youthful-faced soldier had been throught a lot. A lot of training, a lot of sweat and a damn good mouthful of danger. But that had only made him want to train more. And there he was, a walking heap of muscles of six feet, doing some more. He needed to get a life. After all, his other comrades seemed to have other hobbies besides training. Mark enjoyed riding motorcycles and hadn't as far as Hemmerson was concerned ever missed the occasion to play a good game of soccer. Cindy, well, Cindy had the hobby of swimming. She liked it so much many other soldiers had joked that she was a misplaced mermaid. Hell, even the Major seemed to have a craving for chess and rugby. And what where his hobbies. The very same thing he always had had: training. No wonder the others felt he was so dull when off-duty.  
  
The phone rang. Althought he swore he'd sooner die than admit it, he was actually glad to be not doing his workout. He stood up and went to pick it up.  
  
"Hello." he said neutrally. And then he felt his listening ear nearly go deaf.  
  
"Hey there, lad!" shrieked a high-pitched, jovial voice. "Having fun in the country of stars and stripes?!?"  
  
Hemmerson was now holding the phone at a distance, his hears still ringing. He recognized the voice: anyone who heard the voice of Mark Culhen, with its thick scottish accent and its astounding high pitch never forgot it. Ever. He placed his mouth nearer the phone, but kept his ear away. A strange position, an awkward one, but the only one that could allow them to have a true conversation.  
  
"Yeah, Mark, I'm just peachy." he stated. He wasn't even angry at his comrade. That was just the way the scot was. "Bored to death, but peachy."  
  
"Aye, I had that impression. Annoying, don't ye think, not having enought heads to break? Can't really do that in a quiet little region, aye?" The tone was definitely mocking, but Hemmerson refused to rise to the bait. He wasn't in the mood to cross verbal swords.  
  
"Mark, have you got any good reason to make this rather expensive long-distance call?"  
  
"Ye mean besides wanting to let ye hear my marvelous voice?" This time there was a not of glee behing the words Despite himself, the tall man chuckled at the other's antics.  
  
"Yeah, " he said with a quaver in his voice, trying to still the chuckles. "Besides that oh-so missed voice of yours."  
  
"Down to the dirt with it, hmm? Fine, here's the dirt." His tone took on a rather conspirational air. "Ye know 'bout the project ol' Colonel Wolfman has going with Brisby?"  
  
"You mean about recruiting new members?"  
  
"Aye, Stevie, just that. Well, seems Wolfman got those government coinhounds kicking. He's looking for new recruits. And ye're lad is right on top of it!"  
  
"WHAT!" He couldn't be quiet with this. That news and the implications were too much for even his usual stoicism to take. "That KID? They want to enroll this kid into the MI6?!? Are Wolfman and Brisby gone potty?!?"  
  
"Hush, lad! First, they want it in our own SDC, ye know, not just the MI6."  
  
"Why, thats completely..." Hemmerson started hotly, but was cut off.  
  
"Now hold on! Ye've never seen that kid, like ye call him, fight. I have and Brisby did too. The laddie's impressive, Stevie. VERY impressive, if ye catch my drift. And we'll need guys like him pretty soon."  
  
That sobered Hemmerson up. "Why?"  
  
This time there was cold seriousness in the scottish voice, a voice that belongued to a very formidable soldier in his own right. People sometimes forgot Mark was a tempered elite soldier. Until they heard that voice.   
  
"Aye, lad. Remember that hot gal from the Recon Division? Ye know, the one Wolfman was always fighting to get."  
  
Hemmerson nodded. Realising that his companion couldn't see the gesture, he verbalized quickly. "Yeah, sure. How could I forget? Cammy White. A stunner and a VERY capable fighter. What about her? Didn't her unit vanish without a trace?"  
  
"Right on the money, lad! Well, got news from her, at least. Been spotted by a CIA Agent a week ago. Killed an industrialist who, amongst other things, had been a declared enemy of, guess who?" His tone told it all.  
  
"No way...not Shadowlaw..." Hemmerson murmured in disbelief. He must have been heard, for he heard a sigh on the other side of the line.  
  
"Yep, our gal's workin' fer the Shadowlaw bastards now. Wolfman thinks that its not of her own free will though. Which means brainwashing. Now do ye see my point? With people like her on their side, we'll need people like him on ours." The glee returned to his voice. "But we need to test him first before offering the job. And ye're going to love this part."  
  
Mark explained the rest of the plan. As he spoke, a smile, a very predatorial smile appeared on Hemmerson's face, and a light of eagerness in his eyes. When he spoke again, it was with more pleasure than he had since leaving Britain.  
  
"You know what, Mark? This might be a worthwhile trip after all."  
  
"I knew ye'd like it, lad. Just knew it." And both men laughed lightly.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
Alex Strongfort, despite his six feet and a half of height and two hundred and sixty pound body - the majority of which being muscle - felt extremely queasy and vulnerable. It wasn't that the place was dangerous. After all, the place he stood in had been built to heal, so the danger was really nil. But it was an hospital. And he had always hated hospitals. Because some of the people here had something they coouldn't fight at all, something that would kill them sometimes far before their time. And nothing was worse to a fighter like him than something you couldn't fight. And this room was even worse than the rest of the place in general. For this was where Nathan McIntyre, a young man he had come over the years to consider a friend, reposed in a coma.  
  
The huge man of eighteen looked from the small window of the room to the bed, a little look that immediately made him wince. Everytime he looked at the bed, the mental image of Nate appeared: of very average height, slight of stature and useless as far as anything physical was concerned, but possessed of great intelligence and a will to help others whatever the cost to himself. He hadn't met many people who'd lose the major part of a weekend to help a friend get up to date with homework. Yet Nate did with Claudia, without a word or a condition. It was also a youth who had showed him the best places to find training equipment and the best places to train or jog or whatever he wanted to do. No, Nathan definitely wasn't him. Or Jeremy. Or Claudia. Or even Thomas. His expression flickered with bitterness. Especially not Thomas. And now he was like this.  
  
The bones that had broken had been set, the contusions and wounds cleaned and stiched up. Even then, the doctors had told distraught parents and friends that the wounds on the right side of his face would likely scar, and that there was a strong possibility that his left leg would be unable to support him completely. He'd have to live with a scarred face, a pronounced limp and a cane for the rest of his life. That had made them all furious enough. But at least they knew that he could live with it. Live with it and thrive. Nate just wasn't the kind of man to give up because of physical obstacles. If he woke up.  
  
Which, thus far, he hadn't.  
  
Now, as days went by, Nate's body was slowly deteriorating, slowly becoming little more than a scarred, mangled corpse that clung to life. Unable to take it anymore, Alex turned back to look out the window again.  
  
Next to the rather oblivious young man, Claudia was babbling away, telling the slumberer everything that had happened up until now. It was something that his girlfriend had taken to doing, and that Jeremy participated to at the times when he went along with her. They just talk about all the little and big things that had happened to them since the last time they had come to the room, trivial things that, as far as Alex was concerned, rang upon deaf ears, no matter the mumbo-jumbo psychologists spat around. In any case, he was absolutely unable to speak with someone who was out so badly nothing existed on the outside. So the big man could understand what his friends were doing and up to a point he respected it. He just thought it all rather futile.  
  
At the fast and lively rate Claudia was speaking, she didn't believe the same thing as him at all.  
  
"You know that Jer's going to another tournament today?" she was saying in earnest Yeah, we're going to go see him right after this. You know, he's gotten so good lately, he might just be the champion this time! And no, Tom's not gonna participate - he's been banned from those things, remember? Anyway, I'm not sure anyone wants him around now. He's pretty scary, especially after Jer just busted him aside the other day." Her tone took on a rather conspirational level. Alex almost snorted at that. "And I think its pretty sad, you know. Those two barely talk to each other anymore, and they used to hang around like brothers. But now..." she trailed off, not knowing how to say the rest.  
  
The big man couldn't really understand that last part completely. Having never known Tom when he was younger, he had only the last two years to make any kind of judgement. And during that time, as much as he had come to like Jer as a friend, he also came to despise Tom. Sometimes he wondered why. Maybe it was because, for all his conceit and inner arrogance, Jeremy clung to firm ethics and good, reasonable beliefs, while Tom simply showed his skills and let nothing stand in his way, no matter who got hurt. Yes, it might be that. But, still, he felt there was something more, something at the back of his head that made the difference between the two teens. He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. Psychology just wasn't his forte. He looked at his watch blearily. Then did a rather fantastic double-take. He approached the girl and bent quickly.  
  
"Sorry about that." he said hastily. "But the tournament's already started! Come on!" He tugged at her slightly. Claudia gave him a frustrated look and sighed. She turned to the comatose teen.  
  
"Sorry, Nate. Gotta go. I'll get Jer to tell you how it all went! See ya!" With that she got up, and they both left the room.  
  
Once they were outside, however, she stopped cold and whirled so fast that Alex actually backtracked in order to to slam into her. She looked at him with a more-than-slightly angry eyes as he fidgeted and scratched his head. This girl, who only went to his chest as far as height was concerned, was the only female he had ever met who could make him feel little. Her gaze was so willful he was rather surprised she wasn't burning throught him.  
  
"That was way rude, Alex." she stated. He stopped fidgeting, his mind nearly freezing as it processed that last tidbit.  
  
"Come again?" he asked, bewildered.  
  
"I said it was rude, leaving him like that. And all for some stupid tournament..."  
  
"Now hold on, here!" he protested. She ignored him.  
  
"...that we know Jer's gonna win anyway!" she finished.  
  
Since the beginning of this ridiculous situation, Alex had been fighting between anger and astonishment. Anger rapidly won that battle.  
  
"Now what do you mean? You think its better to stay here and babble away at a guy who's so fucking out of it he's certainly not gonna care about what you say, rather than go see a live friend doing something he's wanted to do for quite some time?!?" He hadn't chosen his words very well, he knew. As a matter of fact, he didn't think he could have made it sound worse, and he kicked himself numerous times inwardly as a result. But the damage had been done. Claudia's eyes clouded for a moment in grief and hurt, then the anger returned, magnified ten times.  
  
"Why, you big...! Its my oldest friend you've just depreciated like that, you jerk!" she shouted.  
  
He took a step toward her, his face tightening. "Its not him I'm having a problem with right now!" he fairly bellowed. "Its with you and your damn way of judging actions!"  
  
"Well, if you...!" she began.  
  
"THAT'S ENOUGHT!!"   
  
Both turned to see a red-faced, grey-haired man in a doctor's garb, glaring at the two. After he had their attention, his tone became even, but his eyes flashed nonetheless.  
  
"Now, I don't know what you children are thinking." he said, his voice soft but sharp. "But may I remind the two of you that this is an hospital? That there are people here who are sick enought without having to hear a shouting match? Now I'm going to ask the two of you to go. Immediately. And if you don't, I'll have security remove you."  
  
Alex turned crimson in shame as he realized what he had been doing and, from what he caught at the corner of his sight, Claudia felt just as sheepish. He quickly pulled himself together and bowed slightly to the fuming physician.  
  
"That will not be necessary, doctor. We will leave immediately."  
  
"Yeah. Sorry."  
  
The both moved away, feeling the burning gaze of the old doctor following them, as well as the disapproving eyes of more than one person who had seen or heard the exchange. It was only when they were in an empty elevator, and that the door had closed, that they breathed a sigh of relief. Then an uncomfortable silence ensued. Finally Alex couldn't stand it.  
  
"I'm sorry." he began uncertainly. "I...I didn't mean to say Nate meant nothing. Its just that...well...hospitals and me..."  
  
"I know." she interrupted softly but with more firmness than he showed or felt. "I'm sorry too. I'm just so scared that he's never gonna..." she trailed off.  
  
Alex found himself shaking his head. "He'll awaken, you know." he turned to look at her in the eyes. "That guy's not tough physically, maybe, but he's got a pretty strong mind. He'll awaken. I believe it. I know his parents and Jeremy do. So should you."  
  
"I know. And I believe it too. Its just been...so long." suddenly her mouth quirked upward. "We deserved the old man's scolding didn't we?"  
  
"Did we ever!" he chuckled. "I was surprised he didn't boot us out himself." That both enjoyed a slight, sheepish laugh at that, and it was that way, a bit uncomfortable but reconciled, that the two left the hospital and took Alex's car to see another friend.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Five minutes later...  
  
On an hospital bed, Nathan McIntyre lay motionless, surrounded by the silence now that he had been left alone. None could have ever told if the young, decrepit man was alive at all, but for the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the slow beeping of the machine that indicated his heart was still beating.  
  
But then, had one watched the motionless left hand, he would have gasped. For there was a slight twitch. Then a greater one. Then the hand moved feebly.  
  
And a sound escaped Nathan McIntyre's lips in the first time in many, many months.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One hour later...  
  
Jeremy Storm was relaxing, battered and somewhat still feeling stiff as an after-effect of his cold, but overally exultant. He was winning this. Thus far, he'd fought his way up to the finale with little problems, surprising himself, his uncle and just about everyone in the place. But, as he had fought decidedly fair in all of his fights, he'd received more approving stare than negative ones. Next to him, Melissa sat, a little ill at ease in this place where she really, he knew, didn't feel she belonged, while his uncle was congratulating him on his last match.  
  
"Well done, boy! I see you've mastered all of the techniques flawlessly. It seems your grandpa's been showing you some subtle moves, too. In all the way, you've done well. Especially with that Castillo girl."  
  
In the quarter-finale, he had ironically come against Hilda Castillo, the girl Thomas had nearly maimed the last time the two cousins had participated. She had obviously not only recovered, but greatly improved, and in fact had been harder to defeat than the semi-finalist he had come against. Fortunately for him, although she was faster than him his techniques were more refined and he had managed to use his greater reach and strength to gradually overpower her. He had finally, after many attcks and feints, swept her feet from under her, winning the match and the round. It had felt good to him, being able to show her that his family knew how to fight fair. But he had to admit, it felt even better to win.  
  
But something suddenly sobered him. The other finalist. He too, had breezed past his fights with astounding vigor and skills. No one knew that person: he had appeared out of nowhere to fight at this tournament. Maybe he had had the intention to prove himself, like Jeremy himself? Somehow, it didn't fit. It was too...too sudden.  
  
Melissa, of course, immediately felt that something was wrong. "What is it, Jer? Something bothering you?"  
  
He took a moment before replying. Did it really bother him, to have someone who seemed to be an ample equal of his? As he reflected on it, he found that it didn't. He was just annoyed that such a big obstacle had come between himself and the last test he had set himself, winning the tournament.  
  
"Not really." he said after a moment. "Just trying to forget I won all that."  
  
"But why?"  
  
"Because if I think like that, the guy I'm about to fight won't even break a sweat. Better to act as if this was my first fight, with all the caution that comes with it."  
  
Mattew nodded. "You grandfather's lessons were well-learned, I see. That's a very good way to think." he sighed. "All the same, I would've liked it if Thomas had been able to come."  
  
Jeremy shrugged. "Just as well, really. I don't think he'd stomach me winning this, just like I wouldn't stomach him seeing me lose. Better that way. Keeps the civility we have left intact." It was said sadly all the same. It was at that time that Melissa caught side of Alex and Claudia, hurrying towards them.  
  
"Darn!" Alex swore as he came up. "We've missed all the fun!"  
  
Jeremy laughed. "On the contrary, Alex, you ox! The fun is really just beginning!"  
  
"Sorry about that, Jer. We were out visiting Nate at the hospital." said Claudia.  
  
"Then you're forgiven, of course. I really think Nate's more important than my last show of craziness."  
  
At that, Claudia gave Alex a triumphant look, while the big fighter harrumphed and looked a little upset. Jeremy really wondered what was up with those two. Evidently something had happened. But before he could pry some info, Melissa stepped in, and he had to let it go.  
  
"Has there been any change?" she asked Claudia hopefully. The blonde's eyes immediately went aggrieved. She had her answer: no.  
  
Mattew seemed to decide that all that was enough. "Have faith in him. He'll be all right. When the spirit's strong, the body will mend. And I know damn well Nathan has as strong a spirit as they come. Now stop this. He wouldn't want you to start getting all gloomy. You know him."  
  
That shook everyone, but it was what was needed. They shrugged off the sadness they all felt, pushing it into the background, and resumed more casual conversation. Eventually Mattew left to chat with some of the organizers, Melissa and Claudia started a talk about the last movies they'd seen and Alex and Jeremy, after talking a few minutes about the troubles the big man was having with his car, turned their conversation toward the rival finalist.  
  
"You're right. He's way not like the others." mused Alex.  
  
"Yeah. He's used his skills before. A lot."  
  
"The way he's walking around? Sure. And he's made some ennemies, too, the way he seems to be ready for a fight to start, anywhere."  
  
"Yep." Jeremy grinned. "This is something I've always wanted you know. A martial artist that could be able to defeat me. I'm looking forward to this."  
  
"Not worried?"  
  
"You bet I'm worried! Worried to lose! And that guy's exactly the type of person to justify that worry."  
  
As they discussed this, they heard someone say that the final rounds would begin in five minutes. The two friends exchanged a look and Alex clasped the smaller teen on the shoulder, silently wishing him good luck. Jeremy gave him a smile, than started to stretch his muscles in preparation for the fight.  
  
"I really hope you're worth all that." said a voice. Jeremy immediately turned around, surprised. This guy had managed to approach him without being felt! He pushed the rating he had given this guy up a few notch and returned his stare evenly.  
  
"I'll try." he stated, althought he didn't know what he was supposed to be worth. Not that it mattered. "May we have a good fight." he added.  
  
The other man smiled. How old was he? Eighteen? Twenty? More? Hard to tell.  
  
"I hope so too." he said, and walked away.  
  
Jeremy watched him go, thinking Yep, this is going to be one the people here are gonna remember, if this guy has his way.  
  
And he was so looking forward to all of this.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same moment...  
  
Where am I?  
  
That was the very first thought that Nathan uttered as he came to conciousness. The fog in his mind was so dense, however, that it was some time before he had enough wits gathered about him to elucidate such a simple mystery. He glanced about in complete confusion, taking in the sterile room, the instruments, before he finally made it to its rightful conclusion.  
  
Ah, an hospital. Got it bad, t'seems. But what did...did I get exactly? And how?  
  
His memory was only a garble of images and sensations, unable to answer him. However, he worked to assert all he could on making sense of them.   
  
Alley...pain...fear...darkness...people...noise...a face, in the darkness. Twisted face, hateful, demented face...the face of...of...  
  
Then the memories clicked together, and it started to come back to him. And with it, came back fear and horror. He tried to jerk his body to a sitting position, found he could barely move. How long had he been out, anyway?  
  
Not too long, hopefully, he thought, glad at least to find his mind intact. Because if I was, a lot of really bad things have happened. Things I wanted to prevent on my own, like a damn fool. Gotta tell the others, this time. Get...get Claudia and, and Jer.  
  
He tried to move his arm, found that he could althought it felt like it weighted a ton. Damn this weakened body! After a excruciatingly long time, he managed to call for a nurse. Once he had done so, he laid back and relaxed a little. And started to make plans.  
  
Gotta tell them. Gotta make them believe me. Before more of this happens.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ten minutes later...  
  
Steve Hemmerson had entered the fight with caution but also an underlying current of utter confidence. Now, as he blocked another surprisingly quick attack, he found that he still felt confident. But not as utterly.  
  
To say that this kid was good would have meant little. Those he had fought in this little - but so refreshing - tournament had all been qualified young people, all quite a degree better than the average. They where the best where they came from and it showed. Only that kid had been different. He hid things, held back something that would probably have made him the winner of all his matches even faster than he had actually won them. He had thought that he had gauged this inner strength adequately, however.  
  
He had never been really good at gauging strength. Mark was. Mark had told him. He hadn't listened. Now he was paying for not doing just that. The boy was fast, extremely, fast, and had definitely honed his reflexes as high as he could get them. He also put a greater whallop than one could have thought looking at his body and size. All in all, he was perhaps the greatest challenge of that age range Hemmerson had ever faced.  
  
Fighting off a combo of punches, he found an opening at last, and uppercutted the boy, following up with a swift kick to the solar plexus. The boy stumbled backward, and he side-stepped and let loose a back-kick using all of his strength. Then, just as he made his move, the teen straightened and brought his hands up. Realizing the trap, the undercover agent tried to halt his action, but it was far too late. The lad caught his foot and heaved him backward, and he crashed on his ass rather unceremoniously.  
  
It was at that time that Hemmerson finally got fed up with this even match. Flipping back to his feet, he charged toward his opponent, who assumed a defensive stance. As he charged, he concentrated his strength into his hand, letting it loose upon the teen. The defense caved in faced with that little technique, which had been dubbed the Bomb by fellow MI6 Agent Cindy Morella. The boy litterally flew backward, barely managing to stay inside the fighting circle. The boy managed to get back on his feet, while the judges afforded Steve one more point. Hemmerson almost smiled. As good as this kid was, he was about to lose this round. He saw the other one fix him with a slightly glazed gaze, and wondered if the kid was thinking about the very same thing. However, it was time to wrap this up. He charged as soon as the referee gave his okay.  
  
As he neared his opponent, the kid stretched his hand, palm out, towards him, his fingers like claws. He saw the boy's lips form words, and a weird hue appeared around the palm and fingers. Hemmerson froze as he realized what this was. He'd seen it before, a very few times. His instant of freezing, however, was his undoing, as he didn't dodge at the only moment he could. He felt slammed by an unseen force, greater than five strong blows, and couldn't help but stagger away. As he did, his defense opened completely. He didn't have time to close it up before he was kicked in the stomach, then slammed away by the teen's body. He recovered at last, blocking the blows and returning them. Thinking to bring himself some breathing space, he managed to fling the boy away, stepping back two steps.  
  
As he did so, the teen let up his defense completely. Bewildered, Hemmerson wondered what the problem was. The teen shrugged tiredly and pointed downward, at the agent's feet. It was thus that he saw it at the same time he heard it.  
  
"RING OUT! WINNER, JEREMY STORM OF KYOKUSHIN KARATE! WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!"  
  
As the crowd applauded, he could only stare at the line he had crossed while stepping backward in his haste, the line the was the edge of the fighting circle. The attacks had pushed him away more than he had thought. At first, he felt humiliated at the loss, and more than a little angry. It wasn't often that someone outmaneuvered him like that. Then anger turned to amusement and grudging respect. Mark, as always, had been right. This might just be a perfect match with the rest of the SCD. He sure had more than enought strength, and a good deal of tactical imagination. As for the rest of the requirements, Mark probably wouldn't have set him up for this particular workout if the kid wasn't in the green all the way. All that remained was to make the formal offer.  
  
He shook his head and walked over to give his opponent an handshake. As he did, he saw that at least the teen had been to his limits. In a real fight, Hemmerson would certainly have won, even if he had been battered. Still, the boy did show a LOT of promise.  
  
"Not bad, kid." he said. "You sure got some tricks up you're sleeve."  
  
"The same to you. You're one hell of a fighter." said the teen with a very tired smile.  
  
Hemmerson nodded, then decided it was best to drop the bomb. "Hum...could we have a talk after you're congratulated aplenty? I've got some stuff to tell you."  
  
The boy's brows arched in curiosity. "Stuff like?"  
  
He shook his head. "Can't tell you that here. But its pretty important."  
  
The teen looked at him with intelligent grey eyes, gauging him all over again. The intensity of the gaze got the kid up another notch in the agent's book. He appreciated strong wills. At last he received a slow nod.  
  
"Okay. I'll be there in ten minutes. At the east entrance?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Okay, then." and with that he turned away and went to receive the paraise and the trophy that he felt - and, Hemmerson admitted, did - he deserved.  
  
He shrugged. Winning this hadn't been his purpose, after all. It was just as well that the one receiving all the praise was really the one who had worked for it. With the stealth that had kept him alive in many encounters, Hemmerson left the area, blending back into the background without anyone being the wiser.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ten minutes later...  
  
Claudia couldn't believe that anyone could both look so happy and yet so tired. However, that was what her friend was being right now, walking with a slight shiver from exhaustion but also with a grin that threatened to split his skull in half. He was walking with the trophy, having received the heartfelt congratulations of the former champion and of his uncle and the envy of many others. Before he could speak, however, Alex reached out and slapped him on the shoulders.  
  
"Well, well!! Congrats! Now we're both champs in our fields! Now we can beat up each other on equal ground!" laughed the huge young man.  
  
"Yeah, well, not today, pal!" retorted Jeremy as he rubbed the slapped - and therefore, bruised - shoulder. "All I want after that is a bath and sleep for two days."  
  
"Really? Just sleep?" purred Melissa, stepping towards him. He looked at her and smiled a little lecherously.  
  
"Well, maybe not just sleeping. I'm sure I'd have time for other distractions." Saying that, he pushed the trophy into Alex's hands and went to give the brunette a passionate kiss. Claudia shook her head at the mention of sex. Like they'd do it. She didn't really know why, but those two were nearly a bunch of monks towards sexual matters. They seemed to shy away from things deeper than kisses and hugs. Claudia smiled secretely to herself. Not like Alex and she. Between him and she, the first time was long past, and they had actually gotten comfortable with the concept. But Melissa and Jer, that was another story.  
  
Bah. It wasn't her business, and she'd sooner shave her head than pester good friends on things they seemed unready for. They'd just have to go at this when they wanted to, without people pushing.  
  
Her train of thought was broken as Jeremy released his girlfriend, slapping his head. "Oh yeah, almost forgot!" he exclaimed.  
  
"Forgot what?" asked Alex. All three looked at the new champion expectantly.  
  
"Oh, not much. Promised to have a chat with the other finalist. Shouldn't be long." he kissed Melissa again. "Be back soon!"  
  
"You'd better, or I'm asking Alex to go kick you back here!"  
  
"And far be it for me to refuse a lady's request." answered the giant in an over-polite tone, grinning. They all laughed.   
  
"Then I'll REALLY try to cut it short. See ya soon!" and with that he sped off as fast as he could. The others just looked at him for a moment. Then Melissa turned to them in curiosity.  
  
"Why do you think that guy wants to talk to him?"  
  
Alex shrugged. "Who knows? We'll find out soon, anyway. If we're lucky, maybe the guy would spar with us. He's very good."   
  
At that moment, something beeped. Two pairs of eyes fixed Claudia, who looked slightly embarassed as she dug out her cellular phone.   
  
"Hello? Yes, this is Claudia. I...miss McIntyre! What is it...yes. Yes he's near. Yeah I can go get him too, but...huh?!?"  
  
And the place litterally shook when the next word was uttered.  
  
"REALLY!?!?!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
10 minutes later...  
  
Jeremy scratched his head as he tried to take in all that he had learned. Fact one: that guy, Steve something, was actually an MI6 agent. Fact two: He had been charged with doing the final testing on a very possible recruit. And fact three - the fact he actually liked the least: HE, Jeremy Storm, age sixteen, was that potential recruit. This all added up to a final note that he was completely bumped and clueless.  
  
"O...kay." he managed. "You're part of MI6, and MI6 wants me, right?"  
  
The other guy -Hemmerson, yeah, that was it - nodded. "Crude, but the main point is there, yes."  
  
"Okay." he was really out of it with this. He thought about many possible questions, and finally settled on a very simple but useful one. "Why?"  
  
Hemmerson seemed to have been waiting for this. He leaned against the wall and stared at the neon on the ceiling. "How to put this? You're school record put you amongst the five best of your class in all fields, which means you're not lacking in the intelligence departement. Other files tag you as imaginative, ethical and open-minded. Finally, and this is the most important point: you fight better than the average guy. Way better, I've seen that myself. Now that kind of strength, paired with an intelligent mind, is just what my division, the SCD, needs."  
  
The teen who had just been named champion put up a hand. "Somethings weird. The MI6's Brit, aint it? How come you sound like an american." The other man smiled.  
  
"That's easy. I'm not british. Nor an american. I'm canadian, actually. My division looks for quality work in all the nations in the British Commonwealth, Europe and the U.S, too."  
  
"And how many are you?"  
  
"Can't really tell you that, you know."  
  
Jeremy nodded. He had expected that somehow, but had deemed it worthy of a try. So he tackled something else.  
  
"You told me you guys fight terrorist groups. What groups."  
  
Hemmerson hesitated, like it galled him to talk about that - which it might, for all he knew. "Different groups, but one has been and remains our main concern."  
  
"Big fish?"  
  
"Very big fish."  
  
"And its called?" Jeremy inquired. The agent seemed to hesitate even more, which did nothing to ease the growing unease he was feeling. However, he seemed to come to a decision, and fixed Jeremy with an even stare.  
  
"You might have heard of it. Its called Shadowlaw. Kind of fits with our Shadow Crusher nametag, huh?"  
  
Jeremy barely heard that last part. Shadowlaw! Heard of it? Who hadn't? One of the richest, most influential terrorist groups in the world, dealing in everything that could be labelled as illegal. On the street, the fighters he saw spoke of it in whispers, talking about the inner circle of the organization, four enforcers especially: Balrog, Vega, and Sagat. All extremely powerful fighters, feared by all those he had encountered - especially the great Muy Thai Champion Sagat. But darker whispers hinted at someone infinitely more powerful than that fearsome three. A man cloaked in mystery and power. A man known only as Bison. Hearsay, of course, but it still gave him the shivers.  
  
He finally faced Hemmerson. "You gotta be kidding me! Go against Shadowlaw?!? You gotta be suicidal to do that!"  
  
"I know. I also know you're one of the few guys who can really oppose it."  
  
"That's rid-"  
  
"Also, its better you join us than be forced to join them."  
  
That made him cold, the way that soldier said that last bit. He found that he both wanted and didn't want him to elaborate. Curiosity won, of course.  
  
"What do you mean by that?" he asked worriedly.  
  
The man's face was dead serious now. "You're strong, Storm. I've seen that. A few more years and you'll be quite something to see. Problem is they'll know that. And they'll want you. And if they find you - and they will - you'll have no choice: death or slavery."  
  
"You're kidding!" he said, but it lacked strength. "If that's what they wanted to do, why didn't they go after my uncle -he's strong, and was even stronger back then or my own mother, who was rumored to be stronger?"  
  
"Because at that time they were still setting up shop. Now, their expanding. And for that they need enforcers. Extremely powerful enforcers. People like you." he stepped toward Jeremy suddenly. "These bastards have destroyed so many and so much already. Interpol, the KGB, MI6, CIA and all those agencies, their doing their best. But we need all the help we can get, in the SCD, formed to fight Shadowlaw. Join us."  
  
Jeremy was upset and confused. He needed more time with this. Time to think, to categorize - this was way to much to think at once. Shadowlaw...the SCD...terrorists...fighters...Bison... He shook his head to clear it.  
  
"I...I need a bit of time to...to figure this one out. Please." he was nearly begging.  
  
However, he was met with a nod of understanding. "Of course. Take your time. Just-" he stopped suddenly as they both heard steps. Fast steps. They tensed.  
  
But it was only Claudia, who yelped when she saw him. "Finally! Man, you're an hard guy to find! Come on! We gotta go! Now!"  
  
Still upset about his discussion with Hemmerson, Jeremy shook her off. "Where's the fire? What's going on? What-" Then she turned on him and glared, shutting him up. She then took possession of his arm again and pulled.  
  
"Nate is awake! He wants to see you right this instant!" she told him excitedly.  
  
Awash with surprise and a newfound joy, he didn't resist her at all when she pulled him again to follow her.  
  
_______________________________________________________________________  
  
Here it is! Sorry its been so long, exams and my personal life have been taking a lot of my time lately. Hope you enjoy it. If you got any ideas or just want to tell me what you think, just tell me people! I'd love to hear it.  
  
Next chapter: An awakened Nathan gives Jeremy and Claudia astounding news. But what will come of it? Heartbreaks, betrayal and revelations come forth in chapter 6 of Will and Fate!  
  
  
Jeremy 


	7. Chapter 6

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 6  
  
January 8, 1995  
  
Whatever had been happening in meeting this guy, Claudia knew, it had been a lot to take. The proof of it was sitting in the backseat of the car, gazing throught the window, his eyes clearly showing a mix of excitement, anger and downright confusion. Part of what he was feeling obviously came from the fact that Nate had finally awakened, and the strange request/order he had given them all. Yep, part of it. But certainly not all of it. And althought they had tried their damnedest to refrain from asking about it, they weren't going to sit still with this either. The one who was going to ask first was already determined: Alex had been building up to it from the moment they had started the ride to the hospital. A decade of firm friendship was preventing her from asking, but her boyfriend didn't have that depth of it. She was just waiting for it to come out.  
  
It did, about halfway to the hospital. It came as no surprise to anyone. It was just that the way it was asked seemed so...crude, given the circumstances.  
  
"All right, that's it!" growled Alex. "I'm not taking this anymore, Jer! What in all hells did that guy tell you to get you so fucking screwed?!?"  
  
Claudia winced. This could have been put far better than that. But then again Alex had no true knowledge and no patience with the subtleties of language, especially when he was feeling exasperated. Jeremy seemed to make nothing of it. In fact, his expression of confused emotions barely sharpened. When he spoke, it was in a soft, neutral tone.   
  
"What do you mean by that?" he asked. That only seemed to agitate Alex further, and she had to admit he did have a point. Jer could be so bottled up it was frustrating at times, and this seemed to be one of the worst times.  
  
"You know damn well what I mean!" the blonde man took a breather, calmed himself with effort, and then managed to talk more steadily. "Ever since you've had your 'talk' or whatever that was with that guy, you've been acting so detached its scary. It seems like you barely CARE if Nate has finally woken up."  
  
Jeremy waved the comments away. "Well, I'm glad he's awake. Pretty angry at him for not letting me tell Tom..."  
  
"He must have his reasons." Claudia cut in. He barely seemed to notice.  
  
"...who really should know about this. And then there's what that guy - Hemmerson - told me. It a dose that I didn't need, and I don't know how I'm supposed to be feeling." his voice took on a dangerous edge. "But I DO care, Alex. Don't ever doubt that."  
  
Alex seemed about to press the issue, but Claudia shot him a look from her place at the wheel - the kind of look that had made this slight, beautiful young woman respected by all, even the strongest - and the wrestler subisided into gloomy mutterings. Jeremy again looked out the window. Taking another peek at him, she was stunned by the slight trembling she detected, as if he was not only confused, but afraid of what he was dealing with. Seeing this coming from a guy who had stood up to violent bullies and fighters without batting an eye, was something very uncomfortable to deal with. What had they talked about, for God's sake?   
  
No point asking right now. She just hoped Nathan would help to get throught to him. Of course, he would. Her fragile friend always had an highly deductive mind, and had a knack for finding about things. He had wormed many things out of them all, sometimes without their knowledge. Yes, he'd find a way to straighten things out. Another reason to add to fuel the joy she was feeling at knowing her childhood friend was back.  
  
Because she was happy. Jeremy might be bound up in God-knew-what and Alex may be feeling testy, nothing could ruin her day! She had been praying for this to happen, and it seemed that someone up there had been listening.  
  
Jeremy finally sighed. He tapped Alex on the shoulder, calling his attention.  
  
"Sorry I snapped at you, Alex. It was uncalled for." he said.  
  
Alex gave a weak grin. "Don't worry yourself over that. I was over the line myself. I'm sorry too. Look, if you don't want to talk about it, then don't. I'll deal with it."  
  
The brown-haired young man - who was so precocious he seemed like an eighteen year old rather than sixteen - only shook his head. "I wish I could explain, but I have some things to think through still. All I can really say is that Shadowlaw's involved."  
  
She saw Alex stiffen at the name, and knew it wasn't good. That name seemed trouble just by the sound of it, but by the look the two exchanged, it was even worse news than that. Another street thing. They might be right calling street fighter uncultured - most of them anyway - but one thing they didn't lack was the knack for finding information. Especially on what lay below ground, where people never looked. They were very good at finding out about these things.  
  
At length Alex spoke again. Althought he seemed calm, his eyes told another story.   
"Shadowlaw, huh? That's bad news."  
  
"You bet. Heard the rumors?"  
  
"Who hasn't?" asked the giant restlessly. "If even HALF of what I heard is true, these guys are worse than just a bunch of terrorists. More. Far more. Monsters, thats what."  
  
"I just love it when I'm in the dark." said Claudia sarcastically. She was even more annoyed when they didn't seem to hear her. The two young men fell silent again, but the difference was that Alex also seemed worried now. Great, just great!  
  
The sight of the hospital lifted her slowly sinking spirits again. Finally, she was going to see her old friend again! No matter how gloomy he seemed on the phone, it probably was nothing. The guy who had beaten him so badly was gone - Jeremy, Thomas and, yes, even their old uncle/father Mattew had looked quite thoroughly, finding nothing and no one. So the case was close. No problems detected ahead.  
  
So there really was no point in Nate's worry, right?  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
10 minutes later...  
  
Nathan was far more worried than he even had let on on the phone. Not because he was worried of being beaten again - althought he was concerned of that too, of course. But he was afraid Claudia hadn't truly listened to him, which would give up a very nasty result. Not that he thought he'd be in danger - there'd be Alex and Jeremy, they were strong enough to contain the situation. He was afraid of what it would destroy in the hearts of his friend. Better to talk and explain first. No more rash action, no more thinking the mind was so much stronger than the body - as he so foolishly thought and payed for.  
  
He had just managed to momentarily get rid of his parents. Not for long of course. A lump still formed in his throat when he remembered his mother's clinging embrace, his father's relieved but shaking voice. It was clear that they had been broken by what had happened to him, and he had expected them to. But not that much. All his life, he'd always been liked by friends and family, but his analytical and bookish nature had always left him out of much of his friends activities. How could he hope to be fully understood by robust, athletic guys like Jer and... and Tom. How could he be understood by the one hundred percent extroverted Claudia? And how could he fully understand them? Because he could never truly relate to anyone, he never felt that they had. Even his family.  
  
In this too, he had thus been wrong. Wrong in a good way, however, a stark contrast with his other mistake...  
  
That put his overactive mind straight on the problem. What he had to say to his friends was an hard truth, but a truth nonetheless. He thus felt no true reluctance, only a lingering doubt in the back of his head, doubt about his ability to convince, to explain the facts without looking either crazy or paranoid. He knew they were bound to think him both - Claudia and Jeremy especially - if he messed up here. And he couldn't allow himself to mess up. Not if he wanted to finally stop what had almost happened to him.  
  
He heard voices, excited voices coming from the doorway. He had trouble recognizing the male voices, but he'd know the female voice anywhere. At last, they were here. Worry mixed with pleasure boiled inside him as he waited for them to come in.   
  
As they did, the first thing he felt was relief, then surprise. In the months he had been out of commission, the three had changed so much! Claudia was more beautiful than ever, with her figure slimmer and more elegant. Alex, who had always been impressively tall and strong, was now a mountain of rock-hard muscle that nearly burst out of his clothing. And Jeremy had gained in height and weight. Still slender for an athlete, his shoulders had nonetheless broadened and the added weight didn't seem to be fat. He also had telltale signs of a beard, and a thighter, harder face than he remembered. Looking at his friends, he felt that he had left them for years instead of months. They no longer seemed like teenagers, but real young adults.  
  
His analysis complete, he gladly accepted the hug that Claudia gave him, as well as the fond slaps and handshakes the two guys gave each in turn. He suddenly felt reluctant to talk about what he wanted to talk, but knew they'd have to come around to it sooner rather than later. However, he felt no driving need to rush things.  
  
So they talked of all and nothing for a while, each keeping difficult subjects out of the way. Nate insisted that he be told the entire tournament in detail, and he rejoiced that his friend had accomplished such a distinction as martial arts champion.  
  
"Jer's the guy to beat in the region now." told Alex. "And he's really showed us quite a show back there. You really had him with that...what's the name of that tech?"  
  
"The Flare Talon. A very imperfect one."  
  
"Right. You know, your uncle told me you'd finally outranked his level by being able to do a full-fledged chi attack, even an imperfect one."  
  
"I dunno. Maybe my techs are stronger but Uncle's got decades of experience on me. In a real fight, I'm sure I'd get in trouble rather easily."  
  
Claudia laughed. "Oh, save us the modesty, Jeremy Storm! I've talked with both your uncle, your aunt and even your granddad. They all agree you're probably the one with the highest potential in this family. Higher than your mother, even, and that seems to be something."  
  
Jeremy smiled and bowed, saying nothing, noncommital as always. When he straightened, however, all of the mirth washed away. His face became worried and serious. Nathan sighed inwardly. It was coming. He knew he expected it, wanted it even, but felt dread of it either way. He thus waited for Jeremy to make the opening move. He didn't have to wait very long.  
  
"By the way, speaking of family, why were you so adamant about not seeing Tom? I'm sure he would have liked to come as well - our personal feud nonwithstanding." He crossed his arms.   
  
Claudia frowned while Alex seemed to really want to be elsewhere. "Jer, I don't think..." started the girl. He cut her off impatiently.  
  
"I asked a reasonable question, Claudia." he retorted, never raising his voice, still calm and mild. "And reasonable questions usually mean resonable answers. Well, Nate?"  
  
The blonde girl seemed to recognize the fact that her friend's question was valid, but also seemed ready to step up the confrontation. Nate decided to stop this before things could escalate.  
  
"You're absolutely right, Jer." he said softly. "I have to explain myself. And I will. But for that, I need to explain things from the beginning, and its rather long as far as stories go."  
  
His grey-eyed friend only shrugged. "Go ahead. Its Saturday. We got plenty of time to spare."  
  
"I gotta admit I'm curious." added Alex. He raised his hands as Claudia looked at him. "Hey, hey! I didn't say anything wrong, here! I just think getting all the facts straight's a good idea. Don't you think so?"  
  
Claudia seemed torn for a moment longer, but finally seemed to deflate a bit, and nodded. "Gotta admit, I'm as curious as you guys. But still..." she shook her head. "Fine, go ahead, Nate. Just don't push yourself."  
  
Nathan nodded, wearily choosing how to begin, as his three friends took up more comfortable positions to listen, Alex laning by the window, Claudia sitting at the adge of the bed and Jeremy sitting on the small chair of the room. Nathan swallowed hard, breathed, and launched himself unto his narration.  
  
"I think you all know that, for the past five years or so, there have been irregular murderous acts around our town, specifically around our own neighbourhood. Seven cases of violent murders: Anna Sheldon in October 1990, Frank Hammerbound in May 1991, Bernard DuChateau in November 1993, and on and on. Following me?" Jeremy and Claudia gave firm nods, having been around. Alex was more hesitant, but then again he never had had direct news of the murders, only stories in the news and some info from Claudia. But then, he wasn't important in this. "Right. So, about a year and a half ago, I started to look into it. Just for fun, at first. But then I became more involved in it. Its about that time you started to see less and less of me. I was occupied pestering anyone who could giveme clues, hacking away at files on my computers, and all the info together with things I had observed at the time."  
  
"Must have been hard keeping up with all that." mused Claudia, looking at him with worry and disapproval. Jeremy said nothing.  
  
Nathan nodded. "You can say that again. In fact, I was completely overflowed with info, thoroughly incapable of doing anything else. Involvement became obsession, I started to neglect everything else in my life. You, school, my family... I really worried everyone then, I guess."  
  
"We did wonder what you were doing all that time. More than once." said Jeremy with a nod.  
  
"But then I stumbled across something. A piece of information that you wrote, Claudia. It startled me, and I ventured in a new direction, reluctantly. But then things started to click, small bits from my memory and from what you guys had said started to fill gaps in my reasoning. And, as I was getting closer to the truth, the less I wanted to believe in it at all."  
  
"What was that piece of information?" asked Alex curiously.  
  
"Well, it was in an old book of Claudia's." Claudia glared at him. He smiled nervously. "Sorry. Yes, it was a diary. Now I only read this," he added quickly, " because I had knocked it off a shelf and I absent-mindedly read a few sentences. I really stumbled on that by accident and I really didn't read anything personal okay?" he finished with a pleading look at Claudia. She sniffed and he sighed.  
  
"What was the info?" Alex pressed again.  
  
Nathan swallowed hard, his throat dry. This was where it was going to get ugly. He looked at Jeremy: the guy was looking at him with interest. Obviously nothing had clicked in yet. He started again, choosing his words with great care.  
  
"It...it was a note of hers, that was about Frank's murder in 1991. The note said that it was surprising that Tom, that Tom knew so much about the murder. Just a thought, but one that I really couldn't ignore. I checked it out of habit, but then I...I..." Jeremy's face became stony. What he was saying had become clear. Alex and Claudia just stared in disbelief. He knew he had to finish this, knew it and hated it. "I found evidence. Subtle evidence. Oh, nothing that could stand up to anything in court, but facts and little tidbits that made me sure of it."  
  
He looked at Jeremy, brown eyes meeting grey eyes squarely. Then he said what he had been waiting to say all this time since he had woken up, the thing he should have said months ago. The thing that might well scar his friend forever.  
  
"I found, then, for certain, that it was Tom that had killed them all. All those guys and girls. And the reason I'm in the hospital right now, is that I was foolish enought to go and ask him to stop killing."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time...  
  
Melissa was worried and angry. Not surprising really. After all, her boyfriend and the two other people she had been with had just left her alone with barely a good-bye. And they hadn't even thought of asking her if she wanted to come along to see this friend. This really doing nothing to help her not feeling left out.  
  
What's worse, she couldn't find old uncle out there. The man was lost amongst the people as minor prizes were being passed. She sighed. So much for having some fun on a saturday! She was starting to consider heading back herself, uncle or not, even if it meant going by foot, when she felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She jumped and turned around. Looming over her, tall and strong, was Thomas Storm.  
  
She didn't know whether to be happy or not about this new turn of events. She had never seemed to be able to make her mind about the bigger of the Storm cousins. Jeremy she had liked on sight, and soon fell in love with him as she started to know each other. Strong, arrogant, extremely straightforward and as stubborn as they came, she had also seen him shy, mild, gentle and bound by a strict personal code that was vague to people around but that everyone had come to respect. And she had felt that there was no secret, no hidden darkness, in Jeremy Storm, even at his harshest.  
  
She couldn't say the same about Thomas. Just as arrogant but louder in showing it, he was a most lively fellow, but also a very strange one. Prone to fits of anger, he sometimes acted like a bully with those he didn't like. He was very envious of his cousin, who was the only one in school whom he knew could stand up to him and deck him if it came to that. That envy had only heightened recently. Most importantly, he unlike his milder - if more powerful - cousin, seemed to hold parts of himself in, showing them to no one. The few glimpses she had caught of that hidden side had hinted at dark things, things that scared her. Yet he had always been nice and polite with her.  
  
Her uncertainty as to how she should react made her look confused. To her relief, Thomas seemed to recognize this as startlement and apologized with a smile.  
  
"What are you doing here?" she couldn't help but ask.  
  
"Bah, I went to see Jer, of course. Its his big day and I came to see him win." His tone seemed forced - he certainly wasn't enjoying this as much as he claimed. Melissa wondered if he had really come to see his cousin win, or gloat over him if he came down to losing to someone. Once again, she had mixed impressions of the large young man who, true to the precocious nature of the Storm family, looked more mature than his seventeen years.  
  
He caught her uncertain gaze. "What is it?"  
  
She flushed, kicking herself for being so obvious, but decided to stick to what she had thought, lies not being something she was good with.  
  
"I thought, " she stated carefully, "that maybe you'd prefer not to come, you know. After the other day..." She stopped when he winced. Wrong thing to say, she thought.  
  
"That wasn't the best action I ever undertook." he said gloomily. "Nor the smartest. But that's in the past, now. I really was coming to see him win this." He looked around. "And it looks like I went throught all this trouble for nothing. It's obviously over or just about. So, did he win?"  
  
She nodded, unable to hold back a smile of pride and triumph, and went on to tell about the spectacular fight between Jeremy and his final opponent. Thomas listened with rapt attention, occasionally exclaming or making a small commentary. In the end, he looked both happy and disappointed.  
  
"That's great. Too bad I can't tell him that." he shrugged in defeat and gradual acceptance. "Seems like there won't be any reconciliation today.  
  
He seemed so down in that moment, so deflated, that she felt extremely uncomfortable and cast about for something, anything, to cheer him up. It fortunately came to her easily enough.  
  
"Well, then, why don't you go tell him at the hospital?" she blurted. He looked at here curiously.  
  
"He went to the hospital. Why? To see if Nate is any better?"  
  
She shook her head. "Nope. To see Nate, period. Don't you know? He's woken up!"  
  
For a moment he stood uncomprehending, then something changed in his face, or rather passed throught for a moment. She couldn't pinpoint the expression, but it made faint alarm bells go off like crazy in her head. For a moment, it was like something deep inside him, something that could only be dangerous, had surfaced.  
  
For a moment. And then he laughed happily and heartily, and raised his arms up, bellowing joy for all to see. Such was the contrast that she doubted herself for seeing the dark flash. Perhaps her imagination had played a trick on her. Or maybe he had just been unable to deal with the immensity of the news for a time. Whatever it was, it was something she couldn't tag, and thus stopped paying attention to it and to the weird feeling she had all of a sudden.  
  
When he had expended his joy apparently sufficiently, drawing stares to himself, he managed to face her again, a grin nearly splitting his face in two.  
  
"This is perfect! Perfect! Just the way it should be!!!" He gestured to the exit. "Come on!!! Lets go see him!!"  
  
"But how?" she asked.  
  
"Well, by car, what else? Remember Jer and I can drive now. I didn't come here walking, you know!! Now come on, I want to see his face when I come to talk to him! Its gonna be priceless!!! Coming??"  
  
Melissa was sorely tempted, but something held her back for a moment. The feeling of dread had appeared again, stronger. She was suddenly reminded of Claudia telling Jeremy he couldn't tell Tom yet. That was probably it. But then she also remembered her disappointment when they had all taken off without her. So she should really come along. She'd be able to explain she hadn't meant to spill the news and she would at the same time get them back for leaving with barely a word.  
  
She nodded decisively. "Let's go!" She exclaimed.  
  
"Great!" he said happily. "This is gonna rock!" He started to walk toward the door quickly, humming a tune. Melissa followed him.  
  
She smiled. Whether they'd be happy or not, those three were in for quite a surprise.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Five minutes later...  
  
It had all happened so quickly. One moment they were hearing Nathan's reasoning, torn between disbelief and comprehension. Then the crippled man a seemed to rally, and had faced Jeremy, giving off his shattering pronouncement in a calm, if reluctant voice. For a moment nothing had happened...  
  
...and then Nathan had been litterally torn off the bed and slammed hard against the wall by a very pissed and agitated Jeremy. He had hit the wall so hard that Alex had thought he might have broken something. He did cry out on impact, but then had stood completely still, his gaze not showing fear but calm and what could only be regret.  
  
"PROOF! I want some DAMN proof, Nate!" Jeremy shouted, unheeding of the fact that all that noise was bound to bring hordes of nurses and ordelies and security guards charging throught. "I want proof of what you're saying. Right here. Right now. And if you can't give them to me, I'll put you back into a coma MYSELF!"  
  
"Jer...!!" screeched Claudia, distraught, fearful and angry at the same time. Alex made a move to move his friend off Nate, but was stopped dead in his track by said friend turning a searing gaze toward him. His eyes were widened as wide as they could go, his pupils dilated. There was something wild and desperate and dangerous about him, and it showed as he sent a warning towards both he and Claudia.  
  
"Don't touch me! You DON'T want to touch me! You don't want to TALK to me." his tone, which had reached a dangerous, near-hysteric edge, became colder than ice. "I attack the first who does either, even if its you two. So leave me be." When they held completely still, he turned back towards Nathan. "Proof. Now."  
  
And then the scarred, crippled young man, who had kept calm and silent under the terrible threat, smiled sadly. "Of course. I expected to give you no less. Claudia, there's a thick blue-binded book on the counter just by the door. Please get it, okay?" Claudia hesitated, but finally did as told. She came back in seconds with a blue book - very thick indeed - and stood by the two uncertaintly. Nathan nodded to her, unheeding of the fact that he was still being held against a wall. He looked back at his furious captor.  
  
"Jer, in this book that I asked my mother to bring, stand all the proof that you want. You go ahead and read it. You'll see that I'm right, because I am. I hate saying it for this, but I am."  
  
Jeremy looked him furiously for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Then he gave an abrupt, angry nod. He then flung Nate back into his bed with one arm, snatching the book from Claudia with his free hand and sat on his chair in one fluid movement, opening the book with a savage swing that almost tore it apart. At first he barely glanced at the pages, which were covered, Alex glimpsed, with newspaper articles, police records - hacked, probably - and lots of well-ordered written lines. He flipped pages and scanned furiously, sometimes stopping to read a tidbit more attentively. Alex helped Nate get comfortable again, staying near him if Jeremy went ballistic again, while Claudia went to make sure there'd be no security guards or orderlies would come barging in. They dared no disturb him. So the angry flipping continued for some time.  
  
Then it slowed, and finally stopped completely. The newly-named champion started to really read the pages, his expression at first only still furious, but less so as time went on. His face became pale, his eyes feverish and his expression, appalled. As he flipped the pages, devouring the content, his breath started to come faster, the hands holding the book started to tremble. Alex exchanged a worried look with Claudia, and as one they looked at Nathan.  
  
The crippled man looked at the increasingly tormented young man with sorrow and resignation. His whole body told the story: I knew this was going to happen. I hate it, I really do. But I had no choices left. Alone he seemed to understand what was going on - for now. Jeremy was obviously starting to, and its wasn't doing wonders.  
  
After a while - an eternity! - the book was put down with a shaking hand and its reader stood up, shaking, his head down. Alex tensed. Was the trembling rage or something else? And if it was rage, who was it aimed at. Then Jer looked at them, and he saw that, whatever he would do, it wasn't going to be something that would endanger his friends. When he saw his face, he recoiled, and Claudia uttered a muffled exclamation.  
  
His face. Alex would never forget that face. Horribly pale and drawn, it seemed to have lost all life. The lips were set in a thin, trembling line, barely discernable. The whiteness of the skin seemed to have caused the brown hair to lose all its luster and it looked like it didn't belong there for some reason. The worst of all, however, were the eyes. The grey had drakened as to nearly appear black. There was no expression that could be seen in them, they were blank and glazed, the moisture of tears were the only indication of the great turmoil that undoubtedly raged behind them. That face that had girls sighing in adoration - and not little bit of longing - was now gone, replaced by the face of someone who either was dead, was going to die, or wished he would.  
  
He stood there, seemingly completely out of it, unaware. Then a soft, animal-like moan escaped the throat of the young man, spearing the immense blond man with its despair, its helplessness.  
  
"Jer..." said Claudia very softly, reaching out to him to offer comfort and friendship.  
  
That somehow was the worst thing she could have done. Tears sarted to flow from the unsseing eyes and, before anyone could react, he let out a sob and, turning tail, not even seeing his winter coat that sprawled on the back of the chair, taking it even less, Jeremy Storm ran out of the room. Immediately both he and Claudia made a swift move to the door, with every intention of catching him before something bad happened.  
  
"No. Don't." said a sad voice.  
  
Alex stopped, turned around, and saw Nathan looking at them pleadingly, his sorrow increased tenfold, the calm demeanor now cracked faked. He looked pitiful, truthfully, but the blond giant remembered the face of his other friend, and mentally shook his head. The two levels of grief couldn't even be compared, and he had made up his mind to go after his friend, the only one his age who had really understood his passion of fighting, no matter what Nathan thought he should do, when the scarred teen spoke again.  
  
"He has to deal with this. Besides, we've done enought damage, we can't make it better for now."  
  
It was then that Alex Strongfort got angry. It wasn't something that happened often. Irritation, yes, that happened often enought. True anger? No. It was something all who knew him - except Claudia, who seemed impervious - tended to avoid at all costs, for it rarely was a beautiful sight. And he wouldn't have gotten angry, if Nathan hadn't told him that unfortunate last sentence. But he did, and that was too much. He clenched his fists, reminding himself not to be violent with an effort.  
  
"We've done enough damage? We?" he said softly and dangerously, throught clenched teeth. "We didn't mess him up like that. You did. Your book did. Don't even try to put the responsability of hurting a friend on our shoulders. Its you're fault if he's like that now. Deal with it yourself!"  
  
Nathan flashed a look at Claudia, who looked back coldly.  
  
"Don't look at me, Nathan. Right now I think you're despicable doing what you did. I'm behind Alex all the way on this."  
  
The scarred and crippled man nodded sadly, unsurprised.  
  
"I understand you. I probably would say that, too. But, unlike you, I didn't get a choice of it. I had to tell him, to make him understand."  
  
"I'm really disppojnted in you, Nathan." said Claudia coldly. "I never knew you to be so selfish."  
  
That last word seemed to snap something inside Nathan, for his face lost its calm and sad touch and became a mask of indignation and anger. Alex couldn't help but take a half-step back, so sudden the change had been.  
  
"Selfish? Selfish? Selfish?!? I was selfish enought to go see that crazy sonovabitch by myself while fully knowing what he could do to try to spare that pooor fool Jeremy, who lived with a FUCKING murderer and never even started to guess it, that's how selfish I am! I've got scars that'll always mangle my face, I'll have to walk with a cane for the rest of my life and you never even heard me say a word about that, THAT'S how selfish I am!!" Nathan seemed ready to explode, his face was so red. He seemed to have totally lost his sanity. "I'm giving Jeremy, someone I'm still willing to call a friend, which many in my position wouldn't, a chance to talk some sort of reason into Tom's ugly, murderous skull while the only I think he deserves is to be KILLED outright, THAT'S HOW SELFISH I AM!!!"   
  
Both Claudia and Alex were stunned by the outburst. Never had they seen Nathan so furious. So nice was he ordinarily, the giant wrestler usually found the rather mild-mannered Jeremy harsh compared to him. He didn't know what to say, what to think. And he did felt shame then. Who, indeed, was he to judge Nathan's actions? He hadn't been scarred and crippled by someone he knew, unlike his friend. But, before he could put up some kind of apology, Nathan seemed to master his grief and anger, and became calm again. However, this time he wasn't sad. He was dead cold.  
  
"But then again, what does it matter? You minds are made up. Good. Great. Many felicitations and hurrays. Now get out, because after what you said - especially you, Claudia - I can't, and won't, call you my friends."  
  
This seemed to snap Claudia out of her daze. "Nate you can't mean that! I was just..."  
  
"I suggest you leave right now. Mister Strongfort, Miss Levenson, have a good day." His tone was a dismissal. He picked up the blue book and tossed it at Claudia, who caught it instinctively. "You might find this somewhat interesting, madam. It makes for a good read. Farewell."  
  
Alex knew there was no point in staying. Even thought he gave the impression of coldness, the huge man easily felt his friend's anger. There was no more talking to him, at least not right now. He had erected a wall that they had recklessly helped create. Grabbing their coats-including Jeremy's, he pushed a very reluctant Claudia out the door and into the corridor.  
  
As soon as they were a slight distance away, however, she stopped and looked at Nathan's room with such sad eyes that Alex hurried to find something to say.  
  
"He's just like that, you know. He was just angry, because, you know, we got angry about something we don't understand."  
  
Claudia suddenly set her jaw and looked at him firmly. "Then we will. We'll understand it all." she showed him the book. "We'll read this. We owe Jer, and most of all Nate, to know the truth. Otherwise...we...we..." She looked away. "I just want to know...what's destroyed one of my friend and destroying another one."  
  
Alex bent, to her height, and kissed her on the cheek. "You're right. And I want to know, too. Let's find a quiet place to read this thing.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Fifteen minutes later...  
  
The cold was biting, as it was the case in that part of Maine in January. However, the cold wasn't even bothering Jeremy. In fact, it could have been a coal-hot day in summer and he never would have noticed, either. His body was completely secondary, his mind was taking all the space, filling his senses.  
  
...and it seems that with the case aforementioned, namely Betty Aklem's murder, that Thomas could indeed have made the route from his summer camp to that place in the specified amount of time necessary to...  
  
"Shut up."  
  
...althought no proof may be found presently, I am sadly as certain as can be that it is more than probable that Vincent Hardram, after using his sharp tongue to thoroughly humiliate Thomas, may have been the object of retaliation. This more and more leads this writer to suspect that...  
  
"Shut up!"  
  
...That Katy Madison has been killed by someone with strong fists is no secret. That in itself is not helpful. However, if one takes time to compare the marks on the body of the victim and compare them to the Storm's Fang style of fighting, there is disturbing evidence pointing to...  
  
"SHUT UUUP!!!!" Jeremy howled, breaking the cycle of his thoughts and returning him to reality. He wasn't taking this. Couldn't take this. This was insane. Tom was a jerk, that was true, but a murderer? How dare Nate tell that about someone he had known since childhood? That he had helped study numerous times. That he had had played with. How could he? How could he? It was unforgivable.  
  
And, most of all, true.  
  
True. Althought the emotional part of his mind rebelled at the revelations, the unemotional, analytical part found his friend's -could he still call him that? - investigation sound. Each proof in itself was unsettling. All of them put together made it an unbreakable wall of logic. His emotions couldn't handle it, but the truth was, he believed it. And not just because of what had been written.  
  
For reading the book, he had remembered things himself, facts that he had paid no attention to at the time.  
  
Tom coming home after having gone out. He had come into the room with such an expression that, for a moment, he had had goosebumps...  
  
Tom giving little surprise to some of the murders, as if it was old news to him...  
  
Him glimpsing Tom mumbling, holding Katy Madison's photo, with something wild in his eyes...  
  
Tom telling him facts about the murders, slipping in details that he just couldn't know unless he had been there...  
  
One scene had let loose that well of images, of neglected facts that went on so well with Nate's observations. Years ago, the night of Frank Hammerbound's murder, a sentence so innocent at the time.  
  
"Yep. an old man found him. He'd been dragged out of the woods and on the walkway   
in front of his house."   
  
It had never been told in any news reports. How had he know? How could he have known? Unless he had seen the murder.  
  
Unless he had done it. After all, he'd had his first mishap with chi that night, and might have been out for quite a while. Long enoughjt for Tom to...  
  
NO! He shook his head violently, still unheeding the cold. He couldn't make himself belive it. Sure, Tom was a bastard, but a murderer? No way. He'd have seen it. He have felt it, in those years when they were always together, before their feud.  
  
And yet...something inside him told him Nate wouldn't simply invent this, wouldn't destroy someone's life on purpose.  
  
Two possiblilities. Two paths. One true. One not. Which one to take? Which one?  
  
Madness or madness. Which is the maddest? How can I choose?  
  
He stood still for moment, freezing. Then his eyes opened and were aware, and shivered for the first time since he had been out in the cold. His mien was grieved, but determined.  
  
I'll see what Fate wants me to see, he decided, and judge accordingly.  
  
Decision made, he trudged a very cold walk back to the hospital before he became nothing more than a large icicle.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
That night...  
  
Thomas Storm had it easy getting in the hospital. The security system was old and easily avoidable. The security guards. Well, most of them were lazy anyway. One of those and two nurses had stumbled on him, but they'd been knocked out swiftly before they could see his face. Knocked out. Not killed. Never killed. There was just one person he wanted to kill tonight. A betrayer that had once dared call himself his friend. Tonight he would finish what had been interrupted all these months ago.  
  
As he made his way to Nathan McIntyre's room, his plan of action was clear. He unsheated a wicked knife, hefting it and testing its balance perfect. One swift punch on the head to knock him out, then a thrust throught the heart, then out thye way he had come. No one would ever be the wiser.  
  
Fleeting thoughts of guilt swept throught him. He easily crushed them all.  
  
There's no reason for guilt here. He betrayed me, tried to rat out on me. A betrayer is all that it is. It betrays other people, betrays everyone, yes. Can't live with those around nonono. Gotta get rid of them, yes of course. Nate should thank me, I'm actually helping him atone for his betrayals. Better than he usually gave. Better than a betrayer would give him, yes. But then, he had always been so merciful at heart, yesyes. But not so merciful not to see the truth, nonono. Betrayers were betrayers. Nothing else. No guilt, just redemption for those poor souls. After all, it is Truth. And Truth does not betray.  
  
He opened the door soundlessly, reminded of another half-finished job. That girl. Melissa. Had betrayed a secret that had been given to her by her lover, his cousin. Althought it had made him realize what danger he was him, it also made her a Betrayer. So he had had to take care of her, too. She wasn't dead...yet. But she would be the next time he saw her. She had betrayed a member of his Family. Her death would not be pleasant, as it should be.  
  
He stepped into the darkened room. Nothing stirred. He smiled in satisfaction. Soon the betrayer would be put to rest and the sould would be set free. He stepped forward to do his deed...  
  
...And stopped as alarms went off in his head. Something was wrong in this room. He couldn't see but there seemed to be a presence. A very awake presence. A very dangerous one. He tensed.  
  
The lights of a lamp went on. And Thomas found himself staring at the both grieving and angered face of his cousin. The moment, althought short, seemed to last an eternity. Jeremy looked at the knife in Thomas's hand, his expression becoming even sadder. He then looked back and met his eyes again. He then spoke. Evenly. Slowly. Bleakly.  
  
"So, moving Nathan was the wise move. You won't find him." he voice cracked and shaked as he said the words. He stood "I know the truth, now. Things must end tonight, they must. Tonight things will bet set between us, for good and for ill." His eyes gleamed with unshed tears.  
  
Thomas nodded, somehow understanding. Tonight was the times to know were the two of them stood, whether his cousin was a Betrayer or not, and whether things could go on between them. Tonight was the night. He smiled.  
  
Tonight, we settle things. he thought, it is time for a reckoning.  
  
_______________________________________________________________________  
  
Long time no see! Sorry to have been gone so long, but my studies have been frantic these days and I had little free time. I hope you enjoyed this new chapter! Please give me feedback. And stay tuned for chapter 7!  
  
On chapter 7: Confrontations, horror, heartbreak and decisions are in store for Jeremy and his friends on Chapter 7 of Will & Fate!  
  
Jeremy 


	8. Chapter 7

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 7  
  
January 8, 1995  
  
The two young men stared at each other across an empty hospital room. Once inseperable, the two had become estranged during the past few years, to the point where trust and reunion seemed all but gone from the field of hopes. One who was in the right and the other in the wrong, both sides of a coin.  
  
It was Jeremy, of course, who was in the wrong. Thomas was certain of that. His truth was The Truth, after all. He was a Faithful to the Truth, not a Betrayer. When had the Truth shown himself to him? He couldn't say, he was very young when it happened. But it had changed his life. The Truth had shown him that there were Betrayers in the world, many of them, ready to tear apart the lives of those who were honest and true. At first confused and doubtful, he had come to believe, as he had to in order to save his soul. And so, in coming to believing, he had reached the decision that his family, all such good people, would never suffer from those inhuman, thoughtless Betrayers. And so, in secret, his Holy Mission had begun.  
  
Alas, althought he had become convinced his parents were strong enought of will to resist Those Who Would Betray, his cousin, his dear cousin, seemed to fall deeper and deeper into great danger. From the moment he had hit him at that tournament years ago, betraying him, Thomas had felt the danger, for Jeremy had betrayed him. However, the teint was faint, and could be removed if there were no more Betrayers to lead him astray. And to that he had worked. To no avail, for always he seemed surrounded by Betrayers, ready to pounce on him.  
  
And now, because of the bitch Melissa and that dangerous monster Nathan, his dear cousin was standing close to the Abyss. But he would be saved. He had to be! And there was only one way to do so.  
  
"There is an explanation for all this, Jer." he said reasonably. His cousin seemed stunned by this, his eyes unbelieving. Obviously the teint was very close to his cousin's heart. He had to act fast.  
  
"An explanation? For all...all this?" whispered his smaller "brother".  
  
"But of course. There is an excellent reason for all that I have done!" he exclaimed.  
  
Jeremy seemed struck dumb for a moment, then closed his eyes tightly. "So there's no doubt now, huh? You r-r-really d-did..." his voice broke, and he choked visibly. Thomas thanked the stars. This show of grief meant his cousin had had no true intention of betraying him. He could still be saved!  
  
"Yes. I did. It had to be done, you see. For your sake."  
  
"For MY sake?!?"  
  
"Yes. See, you were being betrayed by so many people. You were in danger of becoming one of them, become a Betrayer, and thus teint our noble family."  
  
"W-w-w-what?..." stammered the brown-haired youth. Thomas looked at him with compassion. His smaller counterpart, dressed in his khaki pants and black t-shirt, exhuding so much physical strength. And yet so weak in the mind! But he would save him.  
  
"For example, remember Kate Madison. Very sirruppy bitch, all nice talk and all..."  
  
"Kate. Yes. I remember, the...t-the name b-but she never betrayed..."  
  
"Oh yes she did and you know it!" Thomas exclaimed, a little angry at his cousin's thick-headedness. "Remember when she invited you to that place, and then left you for another guy during that very evening, and never paid attention to you afterwards. If that's not betrayal, what is?!?"  
  
His cousin, however, still seemed mired in incomprehension. "But, yes she...but she...she was fourteen! She was incredibly self-centered, yes, maybe she did hurt me back then, but, to kill her like that...because she cheated on me..."  
  
"All was done so you could be free from her teint, and that of all these others."  
  
"Betty Aklem, who copied my answers in an exam and almost got me kicked out once. Bernard and his trick he played on me after I had helped him ace Phys Ed..."  
  
Thomas beamed. His cousin was finally seeing the light. "Yes, cousin, finally the truth will be yours. See them for what they really are! Monsters, all of them. Ready to plunge you into something that would shame out proud and honest family."  
  
Jeremy lowered his head and whispered "You killed...because they hurt me..."  
  
"Yes, cousin!"  
  
"You beat them to death... because...they hurt me?"  
  
"Yes! At last your eyes are opening to the Truth."  
  
"Y-y-y-you m-m-monstrous BASTARD!!!" Jeremy suddenly spat, his voice rising, his head rising to face him. Gone was the doubt, gone was the compassion. Only grief and hatred remained.  
  
Thomas almost sobbed. So close, so very close. But his cousin had fallen nonetheless.  
  
"You killed a bunch of kids. You're right, I do remember Kate. Yeah, she hurt me. But she apologized afterwards. Betty, well, I lived it down - it wasn't like she and I we're gonna get married or anything. And Bernard was the same thing. All of them! All of those you killed! They we're just a bunch of kids acting like a bunch of kids!"  
  
"Fool..." stated Thomas angrily.  
  
Jeremy thumped his arm against the wall, starting to circle the larger man. The noise they had just made must have woken up all of the hospital by now. Soon, people would come, very soon indeed. Thomas started circling too, edging towards the door.  
  
"But you never stopped to consider that, huh? You just cut them down! Beat them to death! Called them stained or soiled whatever the fuck you call them!" Jeremy was getting angry, his words were now more snarled than spoken. "And you call me the one who is dishonouring this family?!?"  
  
Thomas could only sigh. He had lost his cousin. He had taken the wrong step and fallen into the unending ravine of the Betrayers. And he, who could have been his savior, had failed in his task. How aggrieving. Now there was nothing left but to cleanse his cousin, too.   
  
And so, Thomas readied himself to fight his cousin. He took on his most refined fighting stance. Jeremy saw this and shifted and readied on instinct. It was then that Thomas realized how bad his position was. Certainly, he had never shown his cousin his true strength, and he had the advantage of the knife. However, and much to his annoyance, his poor lost cousin still had the edge as far as fighting skills went, even thought he might not want to fight all out. Victory in a one-on-one fight was difficult enought. And nurses would definitely alert security guards, who, being blind to The Truth, would support Jeremy, changing the notion of victory from extremely difficult to impossible.  
  
He hated impossible situations. There had to be something else.  
  
And there was, fortunately. He suddenly heard a gasp behind him, and saw a nurse, a red-haired woman in probably late thirties looking at the scene, confused and fearful. They hadn't heard anything, so focused they were. Shameful. Grandpa and Father would be grossly disappointed. But this oversight would serve him well. Quick as lightning, he grabbed her, putting her before him and encircling her arms in an iron grip, using his other arm to hold his knife against her throat. She uttered a cry, then went still and stiff. Before him, Jeremy's expression shifted from grim and angry to hesitant and desperate. So typical of him. His dear cousin acted like that everytime someone pulled something on him like this. Like all Betrayers, it was probably that he didn't like losing any sort of advantage.  
  
"Kinda in movies, huh Jer? 'cept this time its the good guy who gotta pull the stunt to help himself. Ironic, no?" he giggled. Ah, his cousin's acting was marvelous! He really looked like he was worried for this unknown nurse. Fortunately, Thomas was a disciple of The Truth. He knew there were no true redeeming emotions within Betrayers. They were but cold shadows.  
  
"Let go of her." said the new Betrayer. Hah, he even had the worried tone right, what an ace.  
  
"Right. Like you care!"  
  
"I do. Let go of her. She has nothing to do with all this."  
  
"So noble." Thomas smirked. "So fake. But I might humour you, if you just stay put." He started out of the room, dragging his whimpering captive with him, as he headed towards the elevator. Jeremy followed, cautiously, slowly. Like he cared, which was a blatant lie. He stopped as he came to the elevator doors. He slapped the down button using his knife hand, bringing it back to its former position before his opponent could react. They waited for a moment in silence.  
  
At length, he spoke. "I am sorry that I have failed you, cousin, The ones who brought you to this shall pay dearly. The sinful Melissa will be first."  
  
"No way, pal." growled Jeremy. "There's no way you'll get anywhere near her while I'm still alive. I'll warn her before you can reach her house."  
  
"Ah, no, you won't have to do that." was his confident reply to that particular fake outburst.  
  
"What?!?"  
  
"You're a bit late. I've already taken her, just in case I failed here."  
  
His cousin blanched. Great acting again! Thomas could have sworn that the look of terror was real.  
  
"What have you done to her?" the grey-eyed Storm asked him voicelessly.  
  
"Not much right now." his voice became grim. "But that will change, for it is because of her influence if I have lost you."  
  
"No! Tom, if you do that...!" at that moment the elevator doors opened. Using this new element, he shoved the nearly-catatonic nurse toward his foe with all of his strength. She hurtled to Jeremy, who stumbled under the impact. In half an instant, he had pushed the button to close the door. He saw his lost cousing trying to steady both himself and the nurse, and smiled sadly.  
  
"She will pay, cousin." he vowed. "For what she did to the both of us. And then the doors were closed.  
  
And he, Thomas Storm, follower of the Truth, knew that he had to keep that vow. He would make her pay. Dearly. Completely. In the name of what had once been, and what was now irremediably lost to him.  
  
Oh, yes, that Betrayer would pay, more than the others. More than even Nathan would have, if all had gone as planned.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Five minutes later...  
  
Moving Nathan out had been a very good idea, they had all agreed when they all knew what Thomas was capable of - althought they had needed Claudia's charm and mastery of improvisation to convince the hospital staff to do as they wished. Leaving Alex to protect him in case he somehow found out where his would-be victim really recuperated was also sound, althought the fact that Claudia had stubbornly decided to stay with the crippled man and her lover had been taken rather badly by both these men and even the one who was about to confront his cousin about murder. Her presence thus made Alex's presence all the more important. But he still couldn't help feeling irked.  
  
Not that the young whrestler would leave his post now, but he had secretely wanted to be there, to see what kind of twisted reasons the guy would spout to redeem his unredeemable actions. It wasn't that he really was worried that Jeremy would be in grave danger. If it came down to hand-to-hand - and he rather thought it would - his friend was definitely the stronger fighter. Nevertheless, he still ached to be there.  
  
He looked over the room where Nathan now rested, a room that - to him at least - seemed to be the exact same dull sterility of a room that the other had been. Nathan had fallen asleep almost immediately, despite the stress of what had happened just a few hours ago and what was probably happening right now. It wasn't much because he didn't care but rather that his shattered body was completely spent. He looked briefly at the scarred face and listened to the slightly wheezing breath and once again cursed himself for judging Nathan. After all, hadn't the guy gone to see that mad bastard Thomas by himself to try and prevent this? And this had been the price he had paid for that foolhardy but well-meaning action. No wonder, after that, that he had wanted Thomas dead and cared little about everyone's feelings on the subject.  
  
Claudia was seated just next to the crippled teenager, comforting the troubled sleep of one guy and the troubled thoughts of another by her mere presence. She had been the one to apologize first when they had discovered how much of a monster Thomas really was, and he had acepted them so gratefully that it was clear he had felt ashame of his own actions. He had also apologized, but by the time he had, things had already gone back to normal between the two.  
  
He sighed and walked over to where Claudia was sitting. She looked up at him tiredly.  
  
"No sign, huh?"  
  
He shook his head. "Nah." But no sign is a good sign as far as I'm concerned, he thought silently.  
  
"Jeremy will be allright. He's way stronger than Tom is."  
  
"The Tom we thought we knew, maybe. But who can really tell the inner strength of a psychopath?" he asked.  
  
She was silent for a moment. Then she smiled. "Bend down."  
  
"Huh?" That wasn't something he expected.  
  
"Just bend down. I want to kiss you." she stated simply, as if she was talking about something completely normal to do. He contemplated how to answer that, then finally decided the easiest thing to do was to obey. He was thus in the process of bending down his great frame, when a cold voice snapped behind him.  
  
"Fuck! Do that later, we don't have much time!!!"  
  
He had whirled around at the first syllable, assuming a whrestling combat stance and mentally kicking himself for being so neglectful. Fortunately, it was Jeremy, and not Thomas, who looked back at them both. He relaxed slightly before fully reading his friend's expression. When he saw it - anger, fear and more than a touch of deperation - he felt very cold very suddenly. Claudia also saw it.  
  
"What's wrong?" they both asked at exactly the same time - something that would have been funny had the situation not been that tense.  
  
He was silent, fighting what seemed to be an overwhelming tide of emotions. "That...monster... has Melissa. Now come. Claudia, you drive. Alex, I'll need your power and strength on this." he started to move off, then realized they were gaping at him, dealing with the news of Melissa's plight rather badly. He made angry motions of impatience. "Come on! Come on!" And started off into the corridor. Hesitating a second more, they both ran after him.  
  
Alex was beside him in three strides. In his mind, he was still trying to deal with the fact that Thomas had Melissa. If he was as mad as his actions were pointing him out to be, what he might do to her, the pain she could suffer, the things that....no. Enough. He couldn't think about that right now. Definitely couldn't think about it, for his personal sake. He thus took on another tack with the smaller fighter.  
  
"Jer...If he really has her..." he started.  
  
"He does." was the impatient reply.  
  
"Okay, then...how are we gonna find him? He could be anywhere!" The wrestler's statement had little effect, as the brown-haired youth only quickened his pace.   
  
There was, however, an answer. "I may have been blind to his madness, Alex. But I knew the place he prefered to go to. I kept a track on him, if not his actions." the last part was spat like a curse.  
  
"Then why do you need us then?" asked Claudia, almost jogging to keep up with the two. The answer came only when they came to an elevator. Punching the call button, he turned to them with a grim outlook.  
  
"I want you two for a good reason each. Thomas certainly isn't alone because then Melissa could escape. I need Alex's skill and strength to help me there. As for you Claudia, she's the one who can drive us to Tom's place fastest."  
  
Alex nodded. It made sense. However, there was one question he had to ask. Not one he wanted to ask, really, but seeing the controlled rage and despair etched on his friend's usually mild face, he found it was a must.  
  
"Jer..." he coughed, hesitated. This wasn't easy. "Jer...what if we're...too late."  
  
And the look that Jeremy gave him told it all. He never spoke. He never had the need to.  
  
The look clearly said I'll KILL him!   
  
It was a look Alex never wanted to see again from someone he called friend.  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Twenty minutes later...  
  
One could have said Melissa was afraid. Or terrified. Scared shitless. They could have said all that and more. And she would simply have stated that they knew nothing about the situation, for the terror she felt was unbearable and unimagined by those who have never felt it. And those who were in this world who could speak of this kind of situation were few.  
  
She tugged at the rope that tied her to a wooden beam in the ceiling, knowing it was futile. The rope was too sturdy, the beam too strong. Her wrist were red and bloody from her previous attempts, and her strength - just like her hope - had died quickly when she saw that there was no getting out of this. Once again, unbidden, her mind showed her how she had come into such desperate position.  
  
It had come in Thomas's car. Stupid girl, she was. Stupid to have followed him, to have left the safety of the tournament's crowd behind, to have ignored the sense of danger she felt for him. And the sense had been right. He hadn't taken the way that led to the hospital. When she had inquired why, he had told her to shut up, that he was only doing the right thing. She had inquired further, despite the fear which was quickly rising within her. That's when things had gone crazy. His whole outlook had changed, his face becoming increasingly demented as he told her that she was nothing but a Betrayer or whatever and that her presence was, as he said, corrupting Jeremy and making him like her or something similar. It was then that it truly struck her finally.  
  
Thomas Storm, she had always thought somewhat dangerous. But the man next to her wasn't simply dangerous.  
  
He was also completely and, if that was possible, gleefully insane.  
  
Good sense had screamed at her to flee, to throw herself out of the blasted car, injuries be damned. After all, she was better off wounded, even gravely, than with him. She had started to go for the door, but he had seen her. Not surprising. Trained since childhood to detect small changes in opponents demeanor, even more heightened by dementia, he had read her like an open book. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen him lash out with his fist. There had been a brutal impact, much pain - as if she'd been hit by an hammer on the side of the face - and then, blissfully, darkness.  
  
She had come to here - wherever here was. To her it looked like an old room in an old warehouse. Perhaps a room where a manager worked. She couldn't know and at that moment she didn't care, for it didn't change her position. She was helpless Her hands tied and hooked to the ceiling, forcing her to remain at a standing position, the side of her face still burning. He had been there when she had come to, looking at her with an expression of revulsion, contempt and fascination - like she was a strange but precious specimen in a lab. She had tried to speak to him, but had found out that he had gagged her as well. So she could do nothing but look back, and pray he wouldn't hurt her anymore.  
  
She had been somewhat lucky. The only thing he had done was to clamp one of his hands around her jaw, forcing her to face him eye-to-eye.  
  
"You're alive right now because of only one thing: my cousin. I'm going to try to bring him to reason. If it works, I'll consider letting you go - not whole, mind you, but alive at least. If it does not work, and my cousin is lost because of you, I'll give you the worst kind of death that I'll be able to imagine on the spot." he had let her go, then had added, like an afterthought "Oh, and don't bother trying to get out of here: I got three guys here who'll make sure you stay put. They won't hurt you - much, that's my duty, but they'll prevent you from making too much noise." and with that, he had left.  
  
It had been at least an hour since then, and she hadn't dared move much. Althought she couldn't see them, she could definitely hear the "three guys" that were supposed to keep her in line. She had at first been terrified of them entering the room, and using her to...to...she couldn't bear to really think about it, her mind wouldn't let her. But they hadn't entered. Probably at his order. Tom had distinctively said that he would deal with her, that they wouldn't hurt her. And the three thugs outside probably didn't want to mess with someone so strong and so very completely mad.  
  
She then remembered that, if things didn't work out, if Tom couldn't make Jeremy "see reason", he punish her dearly - something that could only make her panic. Because she knew Jeremy and Claudia and even that huge young man called Alex enought to know none of them would see Tom's reasoning as anything even ressembling sanity. Which would piss Tom, who would take revenge on her.  
  
That thought would have made just about anyone in her position panic. And Melissa wasn't an exception to the rule. Not at all. She used all of her remaining strength to struggle one last time against the ropes that forced her to stand upright, guards be damned. It was no use. No use at all. The only thing she got for herself were deeper cuts on her wrists, more blood, and complete despair. Giving up at last, she closed her eyes and sobbed, the sounds muffled by the gag.  
  
"So, tried to escape, huh, Betrayer?" said a cold voice she now would recognize anywhere. Her eyes shot open. Thomas Storm was standing at the door, looking at her with an expression that she simply couldn't define, but that gave her chills all over her body nonetheless. "Told you it was useless." He closed the door sounlessly and started striding towards her, like a cat reafy to pounce on an helpless mouse. His eyes, displaying only a cold void, remained fixed on her. "No Betrayer ever could escape me and you certainly won't change that. The one Betrayer who ever survived his cleansing did so out of luck. You won't have that luck. Not you. Not after the vow I made."  
  
She could read his eyes now, and what she saw made her shake uncontrollably. She saw madness and fervor, and his voice carried a near-religious glee that absolutely terrified her. Tom reached out when he came near her and stroked her cheek softly with his left hand. Althought she tried to remain relatively calm, muffled whimpers issued forth when he did so. He didn't seem to notice.  
  
"To him. To my beloved cousin. A cousin that is lost, now. Corrupted. Fallen!" his stroke suddenly became a harsh slap which cracked loudly throught the room. The pain to her face, which had nearly vanished, returned fully, and she saw stars for a moment. But the man before her - or rather, what had once been a man - never noticed the pain, too bent on his mad rage and confronted with his inner demons.  
  
"He was pure once, bitch. Pure. Untouched. He resisted the corruption brought by that fucking meddler Nathan, that whiny slut Claudia and even from that huge, muscle-bound moron Alex. And then you came along. You, the greatest Betrayer of them all! You changed him! Made him into a Betrayer." Something seemed to snap then, and the fullness of his madness and fury was revealed. "HE'S GONE, AND ITS ALL YOUR FAULT, YOU DAMN, STUPID BITCH!!!"  
  
He hit her then. A direct blow to her stomach. She felt like someone had driven a hammer throught her. She felt her ribs crack under the strain, while the air was knocked out of her and bile rose to her mouth. She nearly choked on it and the only reason she didn't scream was because she couldn't find the strength to do so. She ver had a chance to recover, when he punched her again, this time right in the face, making her black out for what seemed only a few seconds. Blackness ruled her then. And she welcomed it. But she came back too quickly.  
  
Pain was awash now, all over her body, and she couldn't help but scream. She found then that she could scream, that the gag had been removed. Tom was there still, sitting on the floor, looking at various knives when he heard her. He looked at her and giggled madly.  
  
"Back with me, Betrayer? Good! I want you to feel this fully." he got up with a knife, and she recoiled from the look he gave. Amused, angry, lustful, maddened, so many emotions, making such a terrible mix. He reached up and swiftly cut the rope that held her in her standing pose. Her legs, painful and weakened, were unable to hold her weight, and she crumbled to the floor. Her hands were still tied, bleeding, in front of her. She looked up at his wildly triumphant face, and she felt new terror course throught her body.  
  
"What are you g-g-g-going t-to do to m-m-me?" she managed to stammer. She knew she wouldn't like the answer, if there even was one, but she had to ask.  
  
He smiled. "Play with my prey before the kill." he answered simply.  
  
She was intelligent enought to know what the last statement meant. When it hit her, all her being froze with the implications.  
  
It was only when he bent over to her that she screamed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same moment...  
  
The three men waiting outside hadn't flinched when they had heard the first of the girl's scream. But they had all cringed with the second, which was filled with horror and denial.  
  
"NO!! DOOON'T!?!?! PLEASE!!!! NO!!!!! N-mmmph!" was the last thing coherent they heard for a long while. They her noises after that - muffled screams, the faint crack of bone breaking, other sounds they didn't really didn't want identify. With the treatment that seemed to be going on, that girl couldn't last long.  
  
"Hey, hey!" siad one of the men. "No way I'm letting him do this!! We were told that he was just gonna rough'er up a bit, no torture her to death!!"  
  
Another one, who had been smaking a cigarette in the corner, listened to the brutal - if faint - sounds that came from the other side of the closed door, and looked to the only calm one of the trio, who saw at a table rolling a pair of dice. "Mike's right here, Ian. No way we can let him go that far. I'm a thief, maybe, but not a fuckin' murderer."  
  
The third man - young, early twenties, looked at the other two thugs with a cold look. Of the three, he was the only one that hadn't blanched when the beating had begun. The only one that seemed set on the path the group had taken.  
  
From the other room, the sounds of beating died down, to be replaced by raspy grunts and muffled sobs. They couldn't here what was going on - not exactly - but they could tell what was going on. Rape. Ugly word for many. Common place for the places the three hanged out in. But it was one thing to hear about it and quite another to be a spectator to the very thing. Hearing the sounds, Mike went green while his partner went paler than ever. They looked at Ian. Always at Ian. Stupid, mindless thugs, always looking for guidance. Ian Deneen knew these two well. But he had also come to know Thomas Storm.  
  
"Just keep your cool. He won't go against us if we do. Now sit down." The grunts cot louder on the other side. Ian tried to ignore them.  
  
Mike wouldn't be sensible, however. "But, hear that!" he said, pointing to the closed door on the other side of which a gruesome drama was unfolding. "He's...he's."  
  
"Rape. The word you're looking for is rape."  
  
"We gotta do something."  
  
Ian nodded. "And we are. The only thing we can do. Nothing."  
  
The thug called Mike opened his mouth to retort, but never got the chance to say anything. For from the other side there was a scream. Not a scream of pain or fear, but a mix of both, pushed beyond the limits of reason. An unending scream that bespoke hooror and agony, and the falling of a life. It was scream that made the thugs scramble as far away from the door as they could. The scream continued for what seemed an eternity, its intensity never wavering. It was worse than horrible - it was the scream of a person who was being ripped apart.  
  
And with that scream, even Ian Deneed, heartless as he was, tough as he was, was shaken top the core of his being, pride and the knowledge of the monster that lay on the other side of the door being the only things he clung to in order not to clamp his ears shut with his hands. He looked at his partners sadly, his gaze broken by the despair and horror of the scream.  
  
"We can't help her. You don't know him. I do. He'll kill us if we go in. All three of us. Easily. Gladly. There's nothing we can do. Her fate....its over for her. Over."  
  
He was convinced of that. And he would always be.  
  
But that scream would follow him throught the rest of his dark, unsavory life.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Thirty seconds later...  
  
They had heard the scream as they got out of the car, just a little way from the abandoned warehouse that Jeremy said was Tom's favourite place to seek solitude. The scream was so horrible, so intense, that they could do for a moment was stand, wedged to the ground, their minds frozen with an indescribable dread.  
  
Then Jeremy's mind told him who that voice belonged to. Terror and a frenzied energy took hold of him, and he sprinted towards the warehouse, his legs pumping, his speed reaching a level that would normally have astounded him. Behind him, he heard words, then the hard clacking sound of feet running, catching up quickly. With him. That meant nothing to him. All that meant anything to him was the scream he was hearing and the portent of it.  
  
A heavy body passed him, pounding, coming to the door and kicking it open easily. He followed the large man - he was so focused he didn't even remember who it was - and found himself inside the warehouse. All was dark inside. Dark and empty. This place certainly hadn't been used in years. But it wasn't completely empty. No, there was someone here. The light at the far end proved it. Jeremy and the other man ran toward the light as quickly as they could.  
  
The scream abruptly stopped.  
  
His heart skipped a beat at that. And then, from the core of his being, he howled in his turn. But althought there was horror in that scream, it was fueled by rage and despair, and was almost inhuman in its bestiality.  
  
Three bodies came between him and the lighted room. He didn't know them. Didn't even know what they were, and not caring. One tried to block his way. Jeremy's leg lashed out in a blur, kicking it repeatedly. The body fell. He jumped over it, forgetting he had even hit something, and ran to the door.  
  
It was locked. Without thinking, his right foot came forward and tore the door out of its hinges. He stepped in.  
  
There were two bodies inside the room. One was standing up, the other was immobile on the floor. He looked at the immobile body, incomprehending. Then his senses caught up with him, allowing him to see the body for what - and who - it was. For a moment, he was so stunned with complete horror that reason returned.   
  
His cousin - sweating, bloody, holding a long knife red with blood and gore, looked at him serenely. "It is done, cousin. She has been given what she deserved all along. You..."  
  
The monster that had once been Thomas Storm may have said something else, only the smaller man was no longer listening. At the word "deserved", his mind went blank, registering nothing else but a burning wrath and the insane desire to hurt and kill. He charged with another beastlike howl, no longer caring about anything.  
  
All he wanted to do was kill his cousin.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same time...  
  
Alex was having a harder time than he thought he would. Certainly, he had fought before, plenty of times. And he'd fought against more than one opponent two or three times before this. So he wasn't lacking on knowledge. And he wasn't lacking on skills. Yes, he could take them on. Only his mind wasn't on it at all. It was on the howl that belonged to a friend, and the madness that lay therein.  
  
Fortunately, he was only fighting two opponents. The savage kick Jeremy had given to one of them had fairly assured that the thug would be out of the fight for a good long while. He studied his opponents. One of them was of average height, well-built, dressed in a yellow shirt and green pants. He held himself badly - no true skills beyond the basics. He also seemed scared all of his mind, which may make him stronger but also would make him fumble at all times no problem there. It was the other one that bore the most watching. All in black - shirt, pants, hair, hell, even the eyes! - that one was very tall, almost as tall as Alex himself, and had a good build. He also held himself with focus and a relaxed, assured stance that spoke of some skills. This was his target, the dangerous factor he had to take out first.  
  
The dark-haired man attacked stealthily, without fanfare or warning. He sent a series of jabs and hooks aiming for diferent parts of the body. Face, groin, plexus, everywhere the blow would tell. That one definitely knew how to fight. Alex, however, knew best. He blocked the blows easily, but neglected to notice the man's shift of weight. As it was, he saw the kick at the last second, and barely had the time to twist as the foot came swinging up. As it was, he received it on the shoulder rather than on the shoulder rather than on the side of the head, but the pain was still unbelivably sharp, and his defense let up for a moment.  
  
His opponent saw his chance. Swift punches fell on his face, and the tall whrestler stumbled back, trying to catch his breath and focus again. But always his opponent was there, snapping quick attacks here, there and everywhere. For a few moments, it was all Alex could do just to keep up.  
  
That's when the giant got pissed. Here he was, losing to someone who didn't have even half of his skill! He parried one punch, then grabbed the next, holding the fist into an iron vice. His opponent winced at this, tried to pull back. But Alex wouldn't let him. He jumped up, driving a muscular knee into the low stomach of the black fighter, surging upward and crashing downward with all the strength and momentum his two hundred and thirty-two ponds of muscles could put in. That was a move of his, one he called the Grab and Slam His opponent cried out at the impact, then huffed as he tried to refill depleted lungs. Not hesitating a second, he drew back his great fist and slugged the groggy man with all of his might. The dark-clothed guy became still.  
  
He got to his feet, looking at his other opponent, who had been to scared to even move. He walked towards him, intent on finishing this quickly...  
  
"FLARE TALON!!!!!!!!"  
  
Part of the wooden wall exploded at the snarled words, sending a bloody, broken body flying throught. The scared man freaked at seeing this, the last of his courage evaporating as he fainted dead at the giant's feet. The giant, for himself, looked at the events unfolding with wide eyes.  
  
He saw Thomas - a very beaten-looking Thomas - rising painfully on unsteady feet. His clothes were shredded, and he sported wide, purple spots everywhere on his body. Nasty marks. Marks made by fists and feet. His face was what had suffered the most. Red and swollen, it was barely recognizable. Blood was flowing aplenty from his broken mouth, and only one eye still looked out, the other being swollen shut.   
  
The broken man looked toward the hole in terror and anger, and Alex let his startled gaze wander to it, knowing what he would find, or just about.  
  
Jeremy was there, charging. His clothes also lookes shredded, and he had marks on his body as well, but they were fewer and not nearly as extensive. His face was feral and unyielding, a mask of hatred and madness. Alex shivered.  
  
The assault was brief. Thomas crumbled under the first punch, his body giving out. But it wasn't enought that he was uncouncious. Not to his maddened friend. Punches and kicks fell unendingly on the prone body, snarls erupting from a maddened man. Alex saw that if hedid not act now, the other man was dead.  
  
He grabbed hold of Jeremy, holding the smaller man tightly with all the strength of his arms. There were screams as the smaller fighter struggled, and the tall blond youth found himself taxed heavily.  
  
"Jer, stop! This isn't what you want! This isn't what you are! You're not a killer!" The pleading had no effect, the struggles from his captive were only getting stronger. In despearation, not knowing what to say, Alex shouted.   
  
"JER! DO YOU THINK THAT'S WHAT MELISSA WOULD HAVE WANTED?!?"  
  
And, somehow, that did the trick. There was a last howl as he said the name, and then the smaller body started to shiver. It was quickly followed by sobs, heavy and heart-broken. Alex kept his hold on his friend. Not in fear of the smaller man attacking, but to give his friend something tangible to hold on to. He looked at the hole and saw a broken, mangled body covered in blood on the other side. With an horrified start, he recognized who it had been, and he looked away. God, she had died so...horribly. She was so mangled she was barely human in looks. He looked at Thomas's broken body, at the great wounds that were on it.  
  
He looked long at those. And spat on the man.  
  
What had happened to Thomas wasn't horrible at all.  
  
It was deserved.  
  
It was justice.  
  
And so, holding on to his weeping friend, Alex waited for the police he had sent Claudia to call.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One week later...  
  
"So, no contact darlin'?" said a raspy, strong female voice on the phone.  
  
Steve Hemmerson sighed. "Nope. I don't think there will be either. And after what the guy has just been through, I can't blame him, either."  
  
"Having your girlfriend killed by your own cousin, then coming within an hair of killing same cousin yourself? Sure is hard on one's karma."  
  
"We're the losers here, as well." Steve added earnestly "The kid was strong, and getting stronger. He probably would've been the strongest among us yet."  
  
"Besides Giorgio, you mean?"   
  
"Including Giorgio. Maybe not at first but within a few years - at the rate he seemed to be going - he would have left even Giorgio behind."  
  
The woman whistled. "That's quite a statement coming from you, Steve."  
  
"I still got a few bruises to back that statement, Cindy."  
  
"I don't doubt it, darlin'. Well, bon voyage! See you back in England!"  
  
"Sure, bye!" and Steve hung up. He checked on his bag and his room to see if anything had been overlooked. Nothin, as he well knew. He sighed again, this time in true frustration. He'd given the kid the place he was sleeping at, not knowing if there'd be a follow up but deciding to give the kid a chance to make up his mind. But now...  
  
Now it was all screwed up.  
  
From what he gathered, Thomas Storm was probably going to go to a mental institute for the rest of his life. The jury had been adamant on that after Nathan McIntyre's journal and testimony. The Storm parents were shattered, as were the victims' - for that Steve could only sympathize. Who knew what these people were having to deal with? Claudia Levenson and Alex Strongarm had also given testimony. The only one who had refused to have anything to do with the prosecution - or anything, for that matter - was Jeremy Storm. The young man had locked himself up in his house and refused to see anyone. All in all, a very unpleasant affair. But there wasn't anything the SCD could do to help in this case. They'd just have to let go of it this time.  
  
Hemmerson heaved his athletic frame and trudged to the door. Vacation was over. In two days he'd be back in England and'd go back to kicking some Shadowlaw assholes.  
  
As he neared the door, there was a knock. Curious but cautious, he opened it, ready to act if it was a threat. It wasn't. Instead the would-be recruit, stood there, in jeans, sneakers and a white t-shirt and holding a green duffel bag over his shoulder. Nothing seemed to have changed in the lean, athletic youth, except the eyes. The eyes were older now, lacking the naivetéit had possessed even one week before. These were the eyes of someone who grown up seven years in seven days. And it wasn't only the eyes - the whole face seemed somewhat made of granite.  
  
"Storm." was all he said with a nod.  
  
"Hemmerson." was the even reply.  
  
"Going somewhere?"  
  
"Yah. Taking a trip to England with you."  
  
Steve merely raised an eyebrow, althought he really felt confused inwardly. "You sure that's what you want? If you go in now, there's no backing out."  
  
"So what? I'm in anyway." was the mild, cold answer the brown-haired youth gave.  
  
Steve stared at the would-be recruit. Was it right to take him right now, after all he had been throught? Maybe. But he couldn't let the occasion pass. Let Brisby and Castillo deal with the kid if it came to that.  
  
"Fine. Let's go then. We don't want to be late." he took his own things and left the room, closing the door behind him. He then started walking, the younger man keeping in stride, silent and brooding.  
  
It seemed like his little vacation hadn't been a waste after all. He just hoped he wasn't making a mistake by agreeing so quickly to a sudden decision. But, as with all mistakes, he would deal with them.  
  
Directly, if need be.  
  
_______________________________________________  
  
Here we go! Sorry I've been so long. Exams have been a drag these days. However, I'm finished now and will try to bring my chapters in more quickly.  
  
This ends the "background" part of my story - the rest of Will and Fate will be less about Jeremy - althought he WILL remain the most important character MOST of the time - and will show more Street Fighters we know and other original characters. Hope you'll like it!  
  
And people...I CRAVE FEEDBACK!!!  
  
See ya soon!  
  
-Jeremy- 


	9. Interlude I

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Interlude I  
  
June 11, 1997  
  
There was quite a crowd awaiting the exit of Albert Sellers, England's famous Minister of Justice. And there was a definite reason for that. For months now, Sellers had led his ministry in a grand crusade against drugs, and had, by his genuine concern for childrens' future and his charismatic, rousing speeches, gathered much admiration from the English populace, the rest of Great Britain's government and even from people outside the rainy, vibrant island that he called his home.  
  
Many liked him. Most respected him. But some were very annoyed by the minister's crusade, angered at the fact that more and more people were listening to what he was saying. These angered people soon decided to make an example of the fat, determined man.  
  
Cammy White - who knew her own name only because she had been allowed it - cared not at all about the conflict between those that abided by the law and those that did not. She had been told to eliminate this man, and from that moment on he was nothing but a target, those who would be in her way mere obstacles. She would do as the Presence that dictated her every thoughts dictated now. And that was to kill.  
  
She waited in the crowd, surrounded by expectant people who filled the air with excited conversation and impatient noises. All this she blocked. The presence told her to wait. Obeying, she closed her eyes and waited, immobile.  
  
"Here they come!" said an excited voice. Immediately her eyes opened and she slowly raised her head to look at the scene with analytical blue eyes that seemed - to others - to be devoid of humanity. Indeed the target was descending the stairs of the old, majestic building, looking relaxed and satisfied. She followed his descent as he answered various questions affably, her eyes fanatically looking for the right time to act, unblinking and intense. Still, the Presence told her to wait. So she did.  
  
Sellers had arrived at the bottom of the stairs, where the door to his limo was being opened by a bodyguard. As the man was about to answer, a reporter approached him from behind.  
  
"Mister Sellers, could we have statement?" he asked.  
  
Sellers turned to answer...  
  
Now! Commanded the Presence. At once she surged throught the crowd, shoving people -who weren't people to her anymore - aside with cold haste. So focused on the reporter they were that the Ministers's bodyguards didn't see her coming before she had cleaved throught the crowd, tearing off the red coat she had been wearing and which had been hampering her movements. Two obstacles fell into view, blocking her way to the target and starting to draw pistols out of their black coats. Immediately, both the the Presence and her own instinctive abilities came to the fore, and she launched in the air, using her momentum and her uncanny dexterity, to swing around in midair, revolving completely around and knocking both obstacles with strong kicks in the face. Knowing they couldn't have been councious after such a strike, Cammy followed the Presence's orders and resumed her attack without missing a beat. The target recoiled when he saw her barreling towards him, but then another obstacle put himself between she and it, pushing the frightened Minister out of the way.  
  
She barely needed to do anything with this one, so opened was his defence. Before he could react, she had shoved her forearm into his face with all her strength, knocking him out. She resumed her set course without a backward glance, the Presence urging her on.  
  
She finally grabbed her fleeing target, turning him around with an energy that belied her size. As he stared down at her, scared and astounded, the presence spoke through her.  
  
"Going somewhere, Mister Sellers?" It sneered with her voice, than smirked slightly at the total lack of response it got from the target. Kill him, it then commanded. She obeyed  
  
Jumping up, grasping the sides of the man's neck, she swung around, snapping it with a resounding sound that everyone in the vicinity heard well. She then dropped, planting her feet into his back, snapping his spinal column in half.  
  
No one could ever survive such an ordeal. Sellers was dead. The Presence rejoyed, then dictated her to flee the scene. Scrambling from the corpse, she made her run. Unfortunately, in the moments it had taken her to complete her mission, other bodyguards had come from around, and chased her.  
  
At first she did well. One tried to grab her, she grasped his arm and broke it, effectively knocking him out momentarily. The second one, she nailed with a direct kick to the face. The third was throwned expertly as he tried to grab her.  
  
But she never saw the fourth coming. He came from behind, grabbing her tightly and using his body weight to drag her down. Unable to find leverage, she indeed did go down.  
  
And soon other bodyguards were helping him.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
They weren't going to make it. To Giorgio Castillo, veteran NATO soldier, now serving in the SCD of MI6, it was as clear as daylight and more frustrating than Hell itself. Gripping the wheel of his more-than modified Humvee, he started to spit off spanish curses that would have made any reasonable person who knew the particular language run for his or her life. Fortunately, the two peopl who heard the curses had little-to-none knowledge of it, and as such showed nothing but annoyance. One of them, in particular, was actually pissed of by them.  
  
"Would you stop shouting in your mike, damn it?!? It's distracting, you know!" snapped Cindy's voice throught the communication device the two passengers wore.  
  
"Oh, my sincerest apologies, nina! " retorted the spanish acidely, "I tend to get quick at cursing when someone's about to get murdered and that I won't even be there to try and do something about it!"  
  
"You'll be there in a minute anyway. And its not like its our fault! We learned of the assassination attempt at the last second."  
  
"I KNOW!! Dios! Mark must have dragged his trasero with that one! "grumbled the man.  
  
"Mark did the best he could!!! Ohh, enough. Jeremy, darlin', talk to him. I can't take more of him."  
  
The young passenger of the humvee, dressed in kaki pants, black t-shirt and wearing a kaki coat with his name and affiliation, turned from where he had been looking at rapidly passing buuildings, shrugged and looked at the older driver with even grey eyes.  
  
"Please calm down, okay?" he said with utter calm, immediately turning back to watch the blurry scenery that London's streets had become in the mad drive.  
  
"Thanks, that was a LOT of help." muttered the woman dejectedly. "Giorgio, you should arrive within two minutes. Target is a Shadowlaw target, probably Level Four danger level. I'll be standing by and I DON'T want to hear anymore curses." and with that warning, she signed off.  
  
"Your wishes are my command." The spanish man said with mock politeness, signing off himself. He grinned, sparing a look at the other man. "Cindy certainly is a pain in the ass sometimes, heh?" a noncommital shrug was all he git in answer, and not for the first time he felt uneasy with the young man.  
  
It was about two and a half years ago that Steve Hemmerson had brought the youth with him from America. They had all been curious - Giorgio included - about the new recruit. The first time the spanish had seen him, he had seen a scarred teenager that kept his feelings tightly in check within himself. The mild-mannered, brown-haired american really seemed not to care where he was and who he was with, as long as it was as far as the tragedy he had lived as possible.  
  
The only things that had set this athletic teenager apart from most others was the indomitable will that blazed forth from his grey eyes, and a fighting aura quite above the norm. All had seen these qualities - already hinted by Mark's report and Steve's observations - and had like what they were seeing. Major Brisby had thus officially accepted him into the ranks of the SCD.  
  
Never had they regretted that decision. Members soon gave him extensive training in their proper fields of expertise. Erika, their ace pilot, gave him piloting lessons and tweaked up his driving skills with her usual tomboy enthusiasm, while Robert, the uncanny marksman, gave cold and patient lessons on the uses of weapons and marksmanship, and Cindy taught him about communication and the inner workings of the shadowy world they faced, all the while making teasing sexual hints that sent even the usually calm youth into different shades of red and pink. Mark, for his part, initiated him to computers, technology and, with less success, to the joys of brandy. As for Steve, he took to training the boy in the fighting arts used in the MI6 Division.  
  
The youth went into his training like his life depended on it - Joan, their psychologist, actually pointed out that it may have been his sanity he was saving - and soaked in what he was taught like a sponge. Within six months, he was a fair marksman - althought not one of the best, for he seemed to genuinely loathe weapons. He cou;d pilot well enough, use computers adequately, and, well, knew how to fight. Very well. By six months of nearly-fanatical work, he could fight Steve toe-to-toe with ease. Right now, one year and a half after the official end of his formation, he now could beat him around if he wanted to - Steve or anyone else in the team beside Giorgio Castillo himself, and that was only because the veteran had many years of experience over the younger agent. And even that wouldn't hold out long. And that - combined with the calm, even outlook the kid had, made him uneasy.  
  
"We're here." said the subject of Giorgio's reflections, bringing him back to reality instantly.  
  
They had indeed arrived. He could see the grand building where Justice Minister Sellers had given what could only be a rousing oration against drugs and syndicates which sell them about. Among those he had often detracted, the honest man had targetted Shadowlaw. And, unfortunately, Shadowlaw couldn't have helped but to hear. And were about to act.  
  
Or, rather, were acting. There was a distinctive raucus going on near Sellers' limo. Understanding flashed immediately, and the soldier slammed the brakes, screeching the vehicle to a halt. Both men were out of it and moving towards the scene as soon as it stopped.  
  
"Mission commencing. Primary objective..." he suddenly saw a broken body that was unquestionably Sellers "...failed! Mierda! Switching to secondary objective!"  
  
"Understood." Cindy responded, all traces of irritation and humor gone. "Proceed with capture of target." Her link cut off with that. As sson as she did, Giorgio quickly and expertly found the target he wanted. Not that the task was hard: the Shadowlaw assassin was being pinned down by no less than five bodyguards, who seemed to be mightily struggling to do just that.  
  
Coldly, with the ease of the elite soldier he was, Castillo assessed the assassin for a moment. Young. Female. Long blond hair. Good build. Short height. Obviously skilled, or those overlong braids would hinder... he trailed off mentally as he got a better look at the target. And then was stunned by his own revelation. "B-but that's..." he stammered softly.  
  
"Fools! You're giving her too much leverage!" bellowed Jeremy, closing the distance with determined speed. Giorgio cursed at himself for not noticing that fact. Yes, the captive was being given too much room. What incompetents! In a flash he drew and readied his sidearm, which was already loaded with tranquilizer darts that could put down a small elephant.  
  
Pushing aside bystanders that were in his way, Jeremy slammed into the Shadowlaw agent just as she was freeing herself - as they both feared. The plunge took them both down, Jeremy on top. He didn't stay in this position long, however, as he was pushed over and away by the agent's feet and his own tremendous momentum. He recovered in an instant, rolling and flipping back into a fighting stance. The agent, already on her feet, prepared to attack, turning her back on Giorgio.  
  
The spanish soldier, knowing he had a golden opportunity, aimed and fired.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Cammy had just readied herself into the praticed stance dictated by the Presence, intent on dispatching this new obstacle with haste, when she felt a numbing pain at her right shoulder. She whirled around instintively, knowing she was making a grave mistake doing so. She tried to recover, to turn back toward her opponent. However, the drug was already starting to do its work, and when her opponent slammed expertly into her again, she went sprawling down.. They hit the ground again, and she felt herself losing coherence. Stil the Presence was screaming at her to fight, to survive, to kill, but all she managed to do was throw a single punch at the grey-eyed obstacle who was holding her down. But her strength and speed were faded, and her last shot was so weak he intercepted her fist without a problem. The Presence screamed at her again, but this time she could do nothing else.  
  
Suddenly, it felt silent. The Presence was gone, something that had never happened before. And with that, something surged forward. Something familiar, long-faded from her. Something locked away by the presence, something that always seemed to batter away at the wall erected in her counciousness. For a few moment, the something found itself free and took control of what little remained of her counciousness. It was thus that she found herself grasping the hand that had held her fist a second before, and looked with her diminishing vision into the eyes of this grey-eyed, brown-haired...  
  
...person?  
  
"Please...help...me..." she pleaded in a whisper, not understanding exactly what she was saying or why, just knowing that it somehow was the right thing to say.  
  
And just before she lost counciousness, she heard a soft answer.  
  
"I will. Somehow."  
  
And then, all was blackness.  
  
_____________________________________________________________________  
  
Yep, that it for the interlude! I know its short, but its only to get you into the thick of what'll be going on in the next part. Hope you like it!  
  
In chapter 9: Cammy is under Bison's control. As Chunli, Jeremy and other people try to help her, Bison faces two men who as a team prove to be his match! But what happens afterwards?  
  
See ya! Please give me ideas and feedback! 


	10. Chapter 8

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 8  
  
June 15, 1997  
  
In the military, one wit had once noted, there are two types of soldiers: those did a job because they were paid to and those that did it because they belived in what they were doing. If anyone had asked an acquaintance of James Wolfman's which type the man was, he would have been told he was of the latter with a "but of course!" expression. Had that person asked Wolfman himself that question, all he would have gotten in answer would have been a very level and very polite "Please don't waste my time." Short and to the point, but that was how he was.  
  
In his early fifties, the british didn't look it one bit. His short, deep brown hair showed only the barest traces of grey, his face lacked most of the wrinkles a man of fifty should have. Added to that was the good six feet of exerciced body - Wolfman didn't believe being behind a desk meant one would never get to see action again - and a confident and highly energetic gait and bearing, he looked closer to thirty-five than fifty, the image of someone still well inside his prime time.  
  
It was the eyes and the gaze that went with it that told of his real age and experience. The eyes were those of a man who had done, seen and survived more events in the service of Her Majesty than many a veteran his age could even boast of, much less prove. But althought his gaze did show the scars of these terrible and formidable events, it also showed a piercing cunning, sharp intelligence, all mixed with a quiet demand for proper respect. And throughout England's military - and even outside it - it was readiliy given. This was, after all, the leader of the MI6, and had the reputation and strength that went with the position.  
  
Wolfman cared for none of these sensibilities right now. He had a scheduled meeting with some of Interpol's agents and every fibre of his Bristol-born being absolutely refused to be late for a meeting. Especially not a meeting that involved Shadowlaw.  
  
Not for the first time, he wished William Brisby, his old friend and comrade, was with him today. He also knew that it was impossible: with all the problems Shadowlaw and other terrorist groups were creating these days, Brisby had his hands full coordinating and keeping track of SCD operations around Europe and even the rest of the world. The man certainly didn't have time for a meeting with interpol agents - and neither did Wolfman, for that matter. Still, he had to clarify some things and doing so face-to-face would greatly help matters.  
  
He walked through the corridors of the Interpol base with haste, barely pausing to return the crisp salutes from various guards and soldiers, and arrived at the room where the agents were with three minutes to spare. His need for being punctual sated, he went through identity procedures, thanked the guard and entered.  
  
He was doubly relieved when he heard that the discussion was still on strong. He saw the three people he needed to see today: they were seriously conversing on subjects that were undoubtedly top-secret.. It had to be, for the large, high-tech operations room was nearly deserted except for Wolman and the three. He knew none of the names of the three persons, so he studied them for a while. One was seated. A higher-up, more important than the other two, seeing that the man seemed less personally involved in the proceeding and that the other two seemed to be filling him in. He seemed competent, but rather ordinary Another man, standing this time, seemed more impressive, if lower-ranking. He was a tall, bearded middle-aged man that held himself with confidence and spoke clearly and decisively, not saying more than seemed necessary. Exactly the type of person Wolfman liked. The third person - a slim, beautiful young woman - was who caught his attention the most. It wasn't her exceptional beauty that captivated him - although even he couldn't help but feel something at seeing her, especially in that rather eccentric - personally, he rather thought it slightly indecent - oriental outfit she wore seemed to fit her so well. Yes she was beautiful, only a fool wouldn't see that. But that wasn't it.  
  
It was the whole demeanor she showed, the expression she wore: something predatorial, determined to win, who never accepted failure and was ready to push beyond the limits to succeed in a set goal. A look he had seen in some other people in his life, including some of Brisby's increasingly famous - and in the case of terrorists, feared SCDs:`the look of a Street Fighter. It figured to Wolfman, somehow. It also gave him a sort of relief. This might just make things easier. He listened to the conversation more attentively for a moment. The woman was speaking in a cold, clinical tone that still managed to leak disgust over the people she was presently describing.  
  
"From Spain, we have Vega." she said, with an image of the spanish assassin on the screen behind her. "He's savage, ruthless, and a card-carrying psychopath."  
  
The bearded man picked on, his own voice masking any of the feelings he might have had. "Bison has recruited these three mercenaries to be special soldiers for Shadowlaw. They're all extremely dangerous." Wolfman picked up and agreed with the man's inflecting 'extremely', for if the other two were whom he think they were, they indeed were all dangers to society. And deadly to anyone facing them.  
  
The higher-up seemed to consider that. Obviously this info, which was so commonplace to Wolfman and the two others, was new to him. The english soldier shook his head. Lord, don't let me become like that, he prayed silently, a paperpusher that's out of touch with basic things.  
  
The bearded man continued after a moment, his voice showing determination this time. "Each year the crimes they commit grow bigger and more brazen. Shadowlaw must be crushed once and for all."  
  
"We are going to plan a joint investigation with the American military forces." stated the young woman.  
  
There. This was at least one of the points he wanted to clarify. "I am uncertain if teaming up with William Guile is such a good idea." he stated. All three turned to stare at him for a moment. He saw that the woman seemed unsurprised to see him standing there, while the two men were visibly caught off-balance. A very observant kid. His opinion of her was raised a few notches. "But I forget my manners." he continued pleasantly. "Colonel Wolfman, MI6, at your service."  
  
"Ah, yes. Colonel Wolfman. England's military attachés told me you would come today." exclaimed the officer. He made quick presentations, and so Wolman learned the asian woman was named Chun-Li. He filed the name for further reference.  
  
Chun-Li, it seems, was a blunt, if tactful, person. "I am curious, sir. Why would Captain Guile be such a bad choice in assisting me."  
  
"I'm saying he may not be a good choice. Not an outright bad one. If it had been a few years ago, I would have applauded the choice. But that was before Charlie Nash's disappearance and apparent murder. Have you ever met Charlie Nash?"  
  
Chun-Li shook her head. "No. I did read that he and Captain Guile were comrades."  
  
"'Brothers' suits the relationship better. In all of the American Special Forces, there were no closer team, and no team could do a job better than the two." Wolfman saw that he wasn't really driving the point home, so he chose another tack. "Nash was reported killed by Bison himself. So Guile may try to go out on his own to settle things. Now, I know him, worked with him. He's a very good man, an excellent soldier. But he has an understandable grudge against Shadowlaw and may act recklessly on your case. Just so you know."  
  
Her answer surprised him. She only nodded and gave a grim smile. There was understanding in her eyes, and something else: sympathy. Guile, it seemed, wasn't the only one to hold a grudge against that organization. Ha, big surprise!  
  
He cleared his throat uneasily. "You of course will have access to all of MI6's ressources, if you ever need them. My superiors are uncertain, but Brisby and especially Castillo vouch for you. And if they do, then that's good enough for me.  
  
She inclined her head a fraction in acknowledgement. "Thank you, sir."  
  
"Castillo works under your orders, does he not?" asked the bearded man.  
  
"I wish, sir. No, Brisby of the Shadowcrusher Division has that luck. Which brings me to a third, and somewhat delicate, matter."  
  
"Which is?" asked the officer.  
  
As an answer, Wolfman pointed to a screen that showed Cammy White struggling to free herself from the grasp of no less than five meaty and - if Castillo and Storm's report was even barely accurate - incompetent bodyguards.  
  
"Her." he said simply.  
  
"Cammy White? She is at Base B, colonel. Being interrogated by some psychologists." said Chun-Li.  
  
"I know. Any luck getting information?"  
  
"Well, actually..." she hesitated, her face betraying disappointment. Seeing that, Wolfman raised a calming hand.  
  
"Don't worry. I only wanted to say that England and MI6 in particular wish to have a part in her interrogation. After all, she is legally under MI6's jurisdiction."  
  
"Of course." said the bearded man, nodding. "I understand that you would want..." he was cut off politely.  
  
"My apologies, but I wasn't finished. I especially want two people to talk to her. The first is Joan Claudius, from the SCD. She has a way with people, and is reputed in being one of the best military psychologist in Europe. If someone can help you, she can."  
  
The three nodded. They needed all the help they could get, and weren't about to refuse it.  
  
"The second person is also in SCD. Jeremy Storm. A field agent - young, but already making his mark. On him, or so my guts tell me, rest our real hopes of reaching out and helping my former agent." he said this so confidently that he knew it made the three others damn curious.  
  
"He has no psychological training?" asked the officer.  
  
"Only the basics of his training, not much more."  
  
The woman named Chun-Li raised her eyebrows. "Then how can you feel he might help?" she inquired.  
  
Wolman smiled at her, a nice smile that he used when he had a good but spectacular declaration to make. "Because, my dear, for a moment - just a moment, mind you - he was able to speak with the real Cammy White." his smiled got wider as he took in her shocked expression. "I don't know, but it looks to me like it might just be worth a shot, no?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
"Look, Joan, this is ridiculous. What am I gonna say to her? 'Hi, I'm the guy who slammed into you and knocked you to the ground'? This is such b...so foolish, I mean."  
  
Joan Claudius rolled her eyes as Jeremy, who was walking beside her, complained for the twelfth time since entering the base. Giorgio was walking a step ahead of them both, and had smirked, chuckled or otherwise showed his amusement each time the kid complained. She could understand a bit. Usually, Jeremy wasn't a whiner, and took things in stride. This time was however different. This time he fidgeted, fretted, complained, acted like the image of a exasperated teenager and complete whiner. No wonder Castillo had such fun. But Joan was going to get stuck with the repercussions of the possible misteps the inexperienced young man would surely made, and so she wasn't so inclined to guffaw the situation away.  
  
"Oh, for pity's sake, Jer! Can't you just calm down and stop hopping around like a five year old?!? Just think of it as a job and do what I tell you to do and everything will be just fine!" she huffed, glaring at her companion.  
  
Giorgio chuckled again - damn him anyway! - and turned his head sideways. "Yes, nino, please behave yourself. Otherwise I'll start thinking you got a crush on her."  
  
"Oh, thank you for your relaxing and helpful remarks." she muttered. Next to her, Jeremy sputtered a few protests, but finally decided to let it be and resumed in just looking nervous. "Where is the room, anyway.?" she finally asked. The corridors and doors of Interpol Base B seemed to be exactly the same all over and over.  
  
"Paciencia, Joan, we'll be there in a minute." said the spanish, moving his tall frame quicker.  
  
Joan cursed herself for her lapse in temper. Usually she wasn't like this. But her work in SCD had been taxing these last few days, and the last-minute order to come and question-examine a brainwashed former MI6 agent, although exciting, wasn't something that helped her deal with the mounting stress.  
  
At last they arrived at the right room, at the same time that a very tired asian woman was coming out, looking completely defeated. At her sight, Castillo, spread his arms wide and gave a cry.  
  
"Ah, Chun-Li, mi amore, seeing you makes me forget my troubles!" And with that he gave her a friendly hug. Thought she smiled and accepted the hug, she remained tired and aloof. The spanish noticed that easily. "What's wrong? You have the look of someone who has given up, and that's not a look I've seen with you yet."  
  
The woman named Chun-Li only gave a weak smile, then sighed. "For the past hour, I've used every trick I know to get something out of the 'friend' you're about to see. No luck. She just says 'I don't remember' and nothing else."  
  
"Thats not surprising, especially if our theory is right and that the main psyche reacts only to some kind of outside agent." piped up Joan calmly. She extended her hand. "Joan Claudius."  
  
"Chun-Li." said the asian, shaking the offered hand firmly. She then flashed a look at Jeremy. "And I presume you're Jeremy Storm." It was a fact, not a question. The young man nodded his head, looking slightly nervous still. She held his gaze a moment, then turned to look with tired eyes at the psychologist. "They say you're one of the best. I hope so, for you got your work cut out with her." she jerked a slim finger at the closed door. "I wish you luck. Good-bye." With a friendly smile at Castillo, she walked away.  
  
"Remember, amore, that I'm still ready for that date!" said Giorgio cheerfully. All he received was a wave, and he grinned.  
  
"Are you and she...err...you know..." asked a confused Jeremy.  
  
"No, no. We've known each other for a while, crossed paths a lot, and this has become our little private joke. We're just friends, is all."  
  
"Jokes aside, we have to go inside and do our job, Jer."  
  
"Right." he didn't appear to find the prospect of that 'job' thrilling.  
  
Giorgio slapped him in the back. "Come on, nino. It won't be that bad! I'll be waiting outside in case you need me."  
  
Joan nodded. "Right. Lets get this show on the road." and with that, she entered the room. It wasn'y going to be easy. But she would try her best and see what happens.  
  
After all, one never knew.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
That evening...  
  
Where had he seen this girl before? And why did he feel so squeamish when it came to her?  
  
These were questions that Jeremy Storm as he lay in bed in the room he had been given for this last, seemingly fruitless trip. He hadn't bothered to changer and lay fully clothed, staring up at the small cracks in the ceiling. He wasn't tired. He was confused. For the first time in months he felt unsure of what he should feel, do or think. And that frustrated him to no ends.  
  
That first day with that girl - Cammy White, he had learned she was called - had been a complete loss, he had seen that clearly. Joan had tried many angles, trick questions, force ful questions, insinuations, double-tracks, a whole bag of things that Jeremy had absolutely no knowledge and yet nothing. The blonde, braided woman had just sat there, looking at them both with dead eyes, repeating 'I don't know' or 'I don't remember' like a drone the whole time they were there. And all he had been able to do was stare at that poor ghost-of-a-woman, and look like a clueless fool. A clueless fool that felt he should know this girl, from somewhere, somehow. He felt it deep within himself: the answer lay there, just out of reach.  
  
This is crazy, he thought furiously. I know I never saw that face before, but at the same time I know that we have met. Now how could that be?!?  
  
No answer. Swearing outloud, he fought to recall everything about her: her eyes, her mouth, her frame, her eyes, the curves of her body, her mechanical, forced voice. A voice that had been anything but mechanical when, in a desparing voice, she had softly pleaded for help. That was the time when he had really felt a connection, the impression that he knew that woman.  
  
Help me, please! was what she had said. And it had resonated with something - a faded impression of wanting to help...when?  
  
This was simply killing him. Trying to shake off the idea that he could help her, that he should somehow, he stood and decided that now was as good a time as any to go to bed. Why did he have to help her anyway? It wasn't like he owed her anything!  
  
Not true. You owe her a promise. said the inner voice that probably was his own damnable conscience. Irritating but true. He had promised, and to him a promise was a promise was a promise, clean and white as snow. Melissa had always managed to get all sorts of things from him with that obsession over promises.  
  
He stopped cold as he felt a spasm of grief and anger, his toothbrush in his hand. Not gone yet. The pain had lessened from its maddening level to a more tolerable level, but everytime he thought about the...incident...he felt a surge of mixed hatred, sadness and despair. He had shot the memories of the event itself away, refusing to look at them in his mind's eyes. Refusing to make peace with it, with his grief over Melissa's horrible death, his burning hatred for a cousin he had once loved like a brother, and the horror that his ethics didn't stop him from nearly doing the unthinkable.  
  
Because of that, he had had to leave his old life.  
  
No one had taken his departure the same way. Alex, being there with him, had understood. So had Claudia, when Alex had explained how things had been. Nathan had been confused but had sympathized. His grandfather had been grim, stony and had never given an opinion. Even now, Jeremy wouldn't dare ask. Mattew and Samantha, more his parents than close relatives, had taken it the worst. Mattew had been harsh with the teenager he had been, but had given him his fighting gauntlets nonetheless. Mary-Ann, dear little Mary-Ann, had sniffled when he told her he had to leave, the little girl not understanding why everyone was angry or sad - a good thing, all agreed with that. Let her never feel that kind of emptiness.  
  
The worst had been Samantha, who never truly forgave him the fact that he had nearly killed her son. He knew that he hadn't really done anyhthing else than someone else in his place would have gone, but the fact that she became cold towards him, sparing him few words, never talking to him on the phone, never writing any letters, barely acknowledging him the few times he visited, filled him with an undescribable anguish. She had been the one who had taken care of him when he was sick, when he was feeling down, when anything was wrong. To lose her was losing his own mother.  
  
Enough. He had to stop thinking about that. He had a new life now. A challenging, exciting life. New friends too - oh, not like Alex, Nate or Claudia, he wasn't ready yet for that yet - but friends nonetheless. He was fighting for the greater good too, always on mission to dismantle gangs, stop terrorist actions, investigating scenes and finding clue. Yes, it was a very filling existence he had gotten for himself in the SCD.  
  
So why did he so often feel empty in his heart and soul?  
  
And why did he suddenly feel better when he saw that brainwashed girl?  
  
All those questions, all these doubts, he couldn't answer. Going throught the motions of getting to bed, he brushed his teeth, changed, and went to bed. And found it didn't help. His freaking mind was still working, refusing to yield to sleep. Angrily he fought down those thoughts that still plagued him, and finally started to drift off to sleep.  
  
Yeah, tomorrow I'll have eggs for breakfast...  
  
What a magnificient girl that Cammy...  
  
Giorgio should stop making all these jokes, they're bad...  
  
She asked "Help me, please!" And I had to answer...  
  
Smartass. Cold smartass that I've become...  
  
Will Aunt ever look at me like she used to again?...  
  
She asked for help before, in a trance...  
  
His eyes shot open, going as wide as they could go. WHAT was THAT?!? The answer, the answer for why and how he could help that girl, he had it! If only he could remember enough, catch what he had thought. She had asked for help...in...in a trance? What trance? He had entered so many trances, had so many meditation sessions to channel his chi...  
  
His chi...  
  
And that was when he remembered. Years ago, after training, he had indeed entered a trance and had received a brutal, desperate call for help. He still remembered how he had felt - scared and somehow wanting to help the presence, this other person. Could it really be her?  
  
He couldn't know for sure, yet it might be an explanation for the connnection he felt. He did remember the event better, now. It had been a rough try made by an unprepared version of himself. It had scared him to death, too, and had taught him not to rush headlong into what had to do with chi. But he had also never tried to reach out again, for fear of what he might find. Maybe, just maybe...he could try to do it again.  
  
It was a better plan than let the growing emptiness within reach out and cripple him, as he knew would happen if he didn't do anything.  
  
He'd try it. To help her. And, by doing this, he might just save a bit of himself.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Six days later...  
  
"You do know what you're asking, right?" asked Wolfman calmly.  
  
"Yes, sir. I'm asking for a chance to help a former agent." was the equally calm answer.  
  
The day was nice. It was autumn here, near the Interpol base, and the trees were alight with mangnificient reds, yellows and orages, with touches of green here and there, with a fresh breeze that made the air stimulating without making it cold. It was a perfect day to be outside, walking and admiring the view of autumn's glory. But althought the four people walking around the grounds of the base, away from prying ears and scrutinizing eyes, were walking leisurely, they weren't enjoying it as they should. And had no intention of enjoying it. This walk was pure business.  
  
For the past hour, the young agent Storm had detailled a plan to help agent White break out of Bison's control. As it involved several uncontrolable variables - many of them outright unknown - it seemed far-fetched, reckless, and prone to fail in a most horrible manner. But, even though he seemed to recognize that, the young man was adamant, wanted to test his theory - just as far-fetched - that he had a connection with agent White and could reach her mind. In fact, if his face hadn't showed such earnest and drive, such seriousness and determination, he probably would have laughed at the youth's face. As it was, he felt more worried than amused.  
  
"I have no intention of putting another of my agents at risk without something more solid than 'perhaps it will work'." He uttered tiredly. It was at least the fifth time he said that.  
  
Storm seemed just as tired. "I can't give guarantees. The only thing I can do is take precautions and prepare. The rest is Terra Incognita."  
  
"And it may just work where standard methods have not." pressed Joan.  
  
"Besides," added Giorgio with smile. "Its better than just sitting and doing nothing. I say let him try, sir. Please. It can't get any worse for Cammy."  
  
"Yes, but it might make things worse for you, mister Storm." the older man snapped.  
  
"I am ready to take the risk, sir." was the firm answer.  
  
Wolfman sighed inwardly, caught between exasperation and respect. How these young people made him feel old and outdated sometimes! They still had some illusions, still had the drive to try anything, face anything, as long as, in the long run, it worked. He could not help but respect that. However, it also made them lose all sense of caution sometimes, and that was exasperating. However, this time his sense of reson probably wouldn't prevail. It appeared that Claudius and Castillo were also convinced that the possibilities were worth the risk, and in their combined fire he knew even his convictions wouldn't last, especially since something within him pushed him to trust the trio.  
  
"This is getting us nowhere." he stated at last, holding up a hand to stall any protest. "I will see if I can get the officer in charge of this case to see eye-to-eye with your folly. Then you may try. Only if the first try shows danger to either White or Storm, it is to be stopped immediately and definitely. Am I being clear on this?"  
  
"Yes, sir!" was the firm reply from the three others. He nodded.  
  
"Now all that remains is convincing Interpol to try it."  
  
"Don't worry, sir. Chun-Li will certainly agree!" exclaimed Castillo, his voice jovial and confident.  
  
Wolfman coughed uneasily, framing his thoughts carefully before replying. "Agent Li is no longer in charge of the case."  
  
That stunned all three of the younger agents. It was a now-confused Castillo that spoke out again.  
  
"But, Dios, why? She's one of their best!"  
  
"Yes. That's absolutely true. But she's also in the hospital, in a coma." he knew this was a harsh way to say things, but he saw no reason to beat around the bush on the subject. As soon as he said hospital, the reaction was astounding. Castillo became colder, more soldier-like, while the other two agaents shot quick, sympathetic looks in the spanish's way. Wolfman could have kicked himself: what had he stumbled into now?  
  
"How, sir?" was Joan Claudius's intrigued, concerned reply.  
  
Wolfman hesitated. As far as he was concerned, there was no reason he should not tell them. However, Castillo's sudden silence had rung several alarm bells in his head. However, the course was set, he had no choice but to plunge ahead and assess the damage later. Once again, he wished Brisby, who knew these young people far better, was there with him.  
  
The hesitation never appeared outwardly, of course. Ouside, he had remained composed and calm through it all.  
  
"She was attacked and nearly killed by the Shadowlaw assassin, Vega." and this time Castillo blanched, then resumed his stone-faced deameanor. However, his eyes showed fear and rage battling inside him.  
  
And looking at the alarmed faces of Storm and Claudiua as they looked at their friend and comrade, he knew that he, Wolfman, had made a mistake in telling the man. He only hoped there wouldn't be repercussions.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
Cammy White had been in her cell for twelve days, sitting and staring at the walls. To a normal being, it would have been impossible to do so without feeling at least some degree of discomfort - she felt none. The Presence within her told her to wait, and wait she did.  
  
Since the mission, the presence had receded to the back of her mind, present but faint. As it should be - her mission was fulfilled, it no longer felt that her skills were needed. And so the days had passed, registered out of habit, with little heed to the passage of time and not a whit of caring for the outside her. She existed to wait as instructed. No more, no less.  
  
Yet something had changed. Each day, the hammering of the other part of herself, that part she knew yet knew not, that part that the presence was adamant in warning her against, grew louder as the presence grew gradually fainter. She didn't care. She was a tool to be used - her mind and soul - to her, those two words were just that, words. She didn't remember a time when she had thought otherwise - that had been locked away with that supposedly 'dangerous' part of herself.  
  
Noises. Someone was coming. Still the Presence told her to wait, and so she simply stared at the door, looking at it while it was unlocked, opened, and that people streamed inside. A few people: guards, one, a woman that had asked her questions some time ago, the person who had stopped her from escaping after the mission. A small part of her mind analysed that she should be angry at him, yet she felt nothing. He had stopped her. It was only a fact. No emotion was allowed by the Presence. Only a fact.  
  
The guards put handcuffs on her wrists and her ankles, linked by chains to prevent movement. She never budged. There was no will behind her - she had no reason to act.  
  
The woman and the man she knew talked with the guards and other people she didn't know for a while. She caught only parts of what they said.  
  
"Might snap her out...not sure we should...what if she...but then again...might get rough, though..." All jibberish she didn't pay attention to.  
  
At last they stopped. The man that had stopped her before pulled up a metal chair, and sat. He flashed her a smile and told her something.  
  
"As promised."  
  
That meant nothing to her. He then closed his eyes. The place grew silent as the face of the man showed signed of intense concentration and the rest of the small crowd looked on expectantly. Cammy, for her part, felt nothing.  
  
At first, at least, that was the case. Then she felt a tug. Something else, something she didn't know, something from outside started to tug at the wall the presence always maintained, all the while the locked part of herself pushed even harder. It was a novel experience, something that had never happened before.  
  
NO! FIGHT, KILL!  
  
The presence's scream went throught her barren mind, taking control. She tried to lunge at the concentrating man in front of her, only to finf herself held back by the guards. That, added to the fact that she was rather shackled, prevented her strike at her newfound enemy. Many of the other people looked at her with wide eyes, while two others - those the man had seemed to know so well - looked at her with expressions that showed what appeared to be sadness. She cared not a bit about that, as the presence pushed her to fight and she savagely struggled against her human and steel bonds with no reasonable limits. Her wrists were soon sore and bloody, and still she wouldn't - couldn't - stop. She screamed, spat, kicked, all to no avail, as the wall that she had always felt around her started to weaken just as the, and bits of that other part of herself flooded into her.  
  
BISONBASTARDDIDTHISTOMEBASTARDGOONATEARYOUAPARTGONNAKILL  
YOUHURTSHURTSALWAYSHURTSFORCEDNOCHOICEGONNAKILLYOUKILL  
KILLYOU...  
  
NO! BISON IS LORD! BISON IS ALL!  
  
BASTARDBASTARDASSHOLELOCKEDMYMINDAWAYMYFEELINGSTOOKMYLIFE  
TOOKEVERYTHINGHEHURSTSTRUGGLEDHURTSCOULDNTHURSTHURTS  
  
NO! ALL COMES TO BISON. WHEN BISON COMMANDS, ONE OBEYS!  
  
Cammy couldn't control her body as it spasmed and shook, two minds and two wills conflicted, attempted to retain control. She suddenly, for the first time since she couldn't remember, felt true feelings, not from the Presence, not through any agent, but simply from herself. It was intense, it was novel, and she couldn't bear it. Anger...despair, sadness...hurt...loneliness. All these and more wafted throught her, leaving their mark. But still the wall, although cracked, held. However, the new mind that was leaking throught the cracks of it would not be denied, and wrestled control of her body. Completely, for but one moment.  
  
But it was enough to make her lift her head and below the name both minds knew, in a hated voice.  
  
"BIISOOON!!!!!!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same moment...  
  
"Bison!"  
  
The voice belonged to Ken Masters, a master of Shotokan Karate and the All-American Martial Arts Champion. It was said angrily, and defiantly. Because Ken was pissed off. Completely, unbelievably pissed off.  
  
Bison had been looking at Ken's friend, Ryu who had been knocked down after trying one last time to put that megalomaniacal tyrant down - and nearly succeeding. The bastard hadn't felt him coming, something he was using to lay into him with all the strength remained in his battered body. As he tried to finally pierce the muscular man's defense, the events that had led him to this replayed themselves in his mind.  
  
It had started right after that night, after he had taken his girlfriend, Eliza, home. On his way back, he had been alternately thinking about how tired he was of waiting for Ryu to finally show up for the fight they had promised to settle long ago, and also thinking of his reckless marriage offer to Eliza, and how good it made him feel to hear her say she's actually consider it. That's when he had come. Bison. Come for him, to make him the 'perfect fighter'. He had refused anything from the whacko, but had been taken by force after a short - and thoroughly fruitless - resistance on his part. The next part was pain - mind numbing pain, and of feeling trapped within oneself, unable to do anything but watch the events unfolding.  
  
So it was that he had watched, helpless, as his own body tore into his old friend Ryu with heartless determination. His friend, whom he knew could have resisted mightily, seemed unable to cause harm to Ken's body, and had thus taken no effort to defend himself, and was getting creamed all the way. Inside, Ken had struggled in anguish as he saw it all. This hadn't been the fight he had wanted. The fight he had wanted was a friendly fight. Oh, sure, he would have gone all out, but not with the intention of killing Ryu. The fight they wanted was one where the winner helped the loser to his feet, at which point both would have praised, commented and criticezed each other's techniques. It wasn't supposed to end with a CORPSE on the floor!! Ken had thus tried to fight, with all the mental strength he could muster, and had finally felt it give a little. He had continued, exerting alll he could and, suddenly, painfully, he was free, looking down at Ryu with grief-stricken eyes.  
  
That's when Bison had gotten him and flung him into the distance. He had survived the brutal crash, however, by using a technique that Sensei Gouken had taught his students. An healing technique, that had allowed him to regain enought power and health to help Ryu, who had been fighting Bison - and losing.  
  
And what a fight it was. Both he and Ryu had given their all againt him, but there seemed no end to his strength and stamina. Even the both of them, together, had trouble keeping up with the bastard. Until Ryu's last series of attacks. It had hurt him. Really hurt him. And it had slowed him down. Ken could feel it as he punched. At the beginning of the fight, Bison would have knocked the attack aside like it was nothing. Now, he was only blocking it. Blocking it well, too. But he also exerted effort. A lot of effort.  
  
He's weakening! He's weakening at last!!! his mind screamed wildly. But he still was gaining no ground. Sooner or later Bison would regain enough energy to fight him off. And then who knew what would happen. He even refused to consider it as he desperately laid in punch after punch.  
  
That was when Ryu, whom Ken - and, it seemed, Bison - thought out for the count, moved, crawling to Bison like a snake and taking hold of one leg firmly, destabilizing the fiend for only a moment or two.  
  
"Ken, do it now!" he shouted in despair.  
  
Ken wasn't one to let an openning slip by him. Without hesitation, he summoned his chi and launched into the air, delivering a devastating Tatsu-Maki-Senpu-Kiaku - or Whirlwind Kick, as he preffered to dub it. Bison reeled under the kicks, hurt and stunned.   
  
"SHORYUKEN!!"  
  
Before the scarlet-clothed tyrant could even move, Ryu had risen from under him, giving him the powerful Shotokan uppercut, catching him below the chin and sending him hurling backwards. It would take only a moment for him to come to his feet, amoment more to mount a defense. He wasn't going to get them.  
  
"Let's finish this!" Ken shouted, and started to gather all the chi and energy that remained within him into the most powerful Hadouken he had ever created. It wouldn't be the fireball he had thrown at Bison in their short fight. He was going to make sure that this one hurt. A lot. Beside him, he felt Ryu do the exact same thing. A part of his mind growled as he felt that Ryu's Hadouken was slightly more powerful than his, but squashed the thought as petty and pointless.  
  
Finally, Bison landed on his feet, turning towards them, still dazed, his guard down, with no defense at all.  
  
"Now!" shouted Ryu. And at the same time, they both unleased their attack.  
  
"HADOUKEN!!!"  
  
Both great fireballs sped towards thier target, coming so close that they combined into a thing so huge that Ken couldn't help but gawk at. Bison never had a chance, and was overwhelmed by its sheer power and was hurled back again, this time into his own, forteress-like plane.  
  
Which exploded.  
  
Both men looked at the exploding craft tiredly, in relief. The nightmare was over. Gone in fire and smoke.  
  
"All right, guys!" cheered a voice.  
  
Ken didn't turn. He remembered who that voice belonged to. A Sumo whrestler. He had seemed some sort of friend to Ryu and, as such, Ken knew there was no threat. Indeed, he felt only relief from the guy. Ryu turned toward him and the two exchanged gestures signifying victory, and Ken, finally spent, sat upon the nearest rock he saw. Ryu walked towards him, equally tired.  
  
"Hey, Ryu. Its been awhile." he said with a tired smile. His friend's answer was unsmiling, but filled with friendship.  
  
"Yes it has been, Ken."  
  
Silence for a moment. Then...  
  
"Ryu?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Did you know I may get married soon?" Ken asked unexpectedly, fully knowing that Ryu didn't know. And his friend looked back at him with his usual "what are you talking about?" expression, and he chuckled. Yep, they both had a lot of catching-up to do.  
  
And he was going to love every minute of it.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Wolfman cursed as Storm nearly fell from his seat, clutching his head in pain, soon followed by White's convulsions. The worst appeared to be coming true: he was losing both agent to this attempt. What had possessed him to agree with such a plan? He must have been insane at the time!  
  
Joan Claudius immediately went to check her fallen comrade with a medic, as two other went to check on Cammy, whose guard were struggling with to make her hold still. He wished someone like Castillo was there to help, but the spanish had been hard to find ever since he had heard about Vega, and had declined to come with them to see the attempt. Wolfman knew this didn't bode well, but for now there were other priorites to attend to.  
  
"Is he allright?" he asked the psychologist. She looked at him with an expression of relief, and he relaxed just a bit  
  
"Yes, colonel, He's just lost counciousness. He should be okay."  
  
It was at that moment that White lifted her head and howled, her voice pure hatred.  
  
"BIISOOON!!!!!!" and then she went silent once more. It seemed that her eyes, however, still showed signs of conflict. The attempt hadn't been a success, but not altogether a failure, either.   
  
He indicated the now-silent Cammy White with a jerk of the finger. "And what do we do about her? Did any of this simili-exorcism or whatever you wish to call what happened work?"  
  
Joan walked to Cammy, knelt in front of her and observed her for a moment.  
  
"Well, sir," she said at last, carefully. "It seemed to have reached her, at least, which is more than I can honestly say for..."   
  
She was abdruptly cut off as the target of their concerned stiffened for a moment, gasping as if for air. Wolfman didn't like it, and hoped he wasn't going to see a fine representation of a woman in her deaththroas again. Fortunately, as they all looked tensely - minus the uncouncious man and the medic that was taking care of him - the eyes of the agent started to clear. Oh, not completely, all lot of confusion, pain and fear remained, but recognition had settled again in her eyes. Eyes that became frantic when she saw she was bound. The psychologist, fortunately, was there to stop things before they became uncomfortable. She put friendly but firm hands on Cammy's shoulders and looked into her eyes.  
  
"Cammy, Cammy listen to me! We're MI6, like you! We're friends, we won't hurt you! Calm down. Look at me! We.Won't. Hurt. You. Okay? Relax, now."  
  
As she continued on, the former Shadowlaw puppet-assassin calmed down. And finally, a question came. It was a shaky question, to be sure, from someone who hadn't been herself for years, and was scared and confused. But it was, nonetheless, a real question asked by a real person.  
  
"W-w-w-where a-am I?" she stammered softly.  
  
Joan looked at Wolfman, who came to crouch next to her, with a small, relieved smile. The events weren't turning that bad. As weird as things had been, it seemed the attempt had been a success, after all.  
  
He looked at the athletic blond woman, and tapped her slightly on the shoulder. "You're back with the living, Agent White. Welcome back!"  
  
It was a good day after all.  
  
___________________________________________________________  
  
Well, here it is, the first part of the second sub-story of Will and Fate. I hope you'll like it as I enjoyed writing it!   
  
On Chapter 10 of Will and Fate: Cammy recuperates with the help of those who worked to save her. Meanwhile, Giorgio goes out hunting. His prey: Vega! As the two spanish meet, you will see that beyond Giorgio's joviality lies hatred and cold.  
  
See ya soon!  
  
And as always, I crave FEEDBACK!  
  
Jeremy 


	11. Chapter 9

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 9  
  
July 2, 1997  
  
It was a nice, quiet summer day in Larissa. At least as quiet as a town of over one hundred thousand citizens could be. Ancient, if not as much as the cities of Athens and Sparta, it held historical momentos of the long, rich legacy of Ancient Greece. Few of the citizens themselves noticed, although they were foreigners aplenty to gawk and scurry about the various monuments and time-battered relics of the city's past. To the Greek citizens, this was only a nice day, and they were out just for the fun of it, strolling about, talking, laughing, holding hands, all over passing the day as they saw fit.  
  
Among these local people, a woman was striding, her posture and gait that of mystery and elegance. She was a remarquably beautiful woman: buxom yet slender, graceful yet strong,, with magnificient - if rather queer - lavender hair and a delicate face that seemed worthy of song she radiated her personal attributes without even thinking about it, and turned every male heads she encountered, and more than a few admiring and envious femal ones. She seemed not to notice the stares given her, and she went her way without heeding any.  
  
One might, at this point, wondered why no one came to talk or flirt with this stunning beauty. The reason was simple: she radiated beauty but also mystery. And it seemed like a mystery that no one wanted to learn about, for her eyes - ageless and opaque - seemed to carry with them a deep sorrow and a wisdom that was beyond the years she showed.  
  
All of this the person tailing the woman had figured out very long ago, and it had little effect nowadays. Following her down the streets, moving throught crowds, there yet unseen, the stalker kept her at the edge of his vision, never losing track of her but not letting her see him. Soon they came to a small shop that seemed to vibrate presence, yet to be inconspicous. On its window the words "Rose's Palace" were painted in greek and english. The figure smiled, then hasted to follow as she entered the shop. He came to the door and reached for the handle.  
  
The door opened and the woman was there, her sad eyes showing a hint of amusement at her impromptu visitor's sudden discomfiture. Dang. So close.  
  
"Not that close, my friend." she said in her sweet yet srange voice, as if reading his thoughts - which wasn't beyond her, the person knew. "I've been feeling your presence for a long while."  
  
The figure coughed, embarassed, then half-smiled, the attempt showing its irritation. "And once again, Julia Simmons gets fooled by Rose the Omnipotent." Julia then smiled wickedly. "But I will surprise you, one day.  
  
Rose smiled in her turn, placidely. "Perhaps. Life is full of surprises." she stated  
  
"May I come in?"   
  
"Of course, dear."  
  
Julia Simmons entered the small boutique, wondering as she always did at the tarots and talismans and other - err, interesting - things that lay about. It was a mysterious place, but it was also a place she liked a lot. She had to force herself to remember she was here with a purpose in mind. It may be a waste of her time, but the advice she could find here could mean a lot. To Brisby, to Joan, to Jer and, if it helped, especially to Cammy. And she would do anything to help the SCD, the only family she had ever known.  
  
Julia hailed from northern England, where she had lived a miserable life, going from foster family to foster family and never making any friends. She was a wispy, thin little thing as a child, a black-haired midget that was good at only one thing, really: making herself invisible. When she didn't want to see someone, to deal with a situation, she hid. And good luck to anyone who tried to find her then. Over the years, this natural trait expanded, until it became an incredible skill. One that made her lonely and rejected.  
  
She probably never would have amounted to much, if not for William Brisby, who noted her skill and convinced her to try and join a unit he was forming, the SCD. She was intrigued: it was the first time anyone had showed interest in her. Maybe that was the reason she worked so hard to join the unit.  
  
Being in the SCD changed her life. There she met people, different people like her. Many were military officers or soldiers, but a few were civilians with military training, like her. And all of them had their darkness. This unit was the place for the wounded, the rejected the ignored. But also for something else. The exceptionally gifted. All of the people there possessed a gift that was so great it was abnormal. Some had ways of getting information, some were great talkers, or excellent marsman or superior fighters. All of them usually found each other there, and a part of themselves. She certainly did.  
  
Her skill, the skill not a single person in the SCD could equal when it came to Julia, was stealth. Year of making herself invisible, mixed with training and the experience of dangerous missions, had made her way of moving unseen supreme. No one knew she was there unless she willed it. At least it had been like that until Rose. The first time had been during a mission in Larissa, where she had been asked to stalk a woman reputed to have strange powers. She did so for an entire, gathering information on her comings and goings, until the woman had finally walked up to her, and asked that, if she liked her so much she may as well come with her and have some tea. It had been an embarassing moment, a very frustrating one. And it had been the beginning of the oddest friendship she ever had with someone.  
  
Rose quickly replaced the sign on her window, which said 'open', with one that said 'closed'. Julia just shook her head. So typical of Rose, to know what she was just about to ask.   
  
Okay, fun's over, girl. Quite reminescing and get on with your job. she thought  
  
"Thank you, Rose." she said genuinely, in her thick, raspy english. "I really hate to drop in on you like this, but..."  
  
"But something has come up?" interjected the lavender-haired woman smoothly. "Anyone, looking at you, would guess that. Have you come for advice or help?"  
  
Julia bit her lip, considering. "Both. I come here for help and advice on the part of a friend - to help someone."  
  
A slender eyebrow lifted. "Truly? What kind of help, if I may ask?"  
  
"I can tell you that with two simple words: Bison and mind-control."  
  
And then there was something spectacular, at least to Julia. For the three full years she had visited and talked to Rose, she had never seen her looking anything but calm. Never had she seen anything but pleasantness and faint, constant melancholia from the wise woman. Today there was a change. Anger and fear at Bison's name, anger and understanding at hearing of mind control. It was a fleeting impression, soon the pleasantness was back. But it lasted long enough for Julia to feel queasy.  
  
God help Bison if those two meet, she thought, not fully understanding why, only knowing it seemed true.  
  
"That is...a delicate matter." hesitation in her voice, another first-timer! This day was full of surprises indeed. "Let's go sit down, I'll make us some tea. You may want to tell me your story, so that I may advise you as best I can.  
  
Rose fwalked to the backdoor of her shop, followed by an intrigued and stupefied Julia, who decided now was as good a time as any to start her story.  
  
"Well, " she began slowly, "Remember Jeremy Storm, the guy who's as strong as good old Giorgio? A few weeks ago, Giorgio and he went on a mission to prevent an assassination. The assassin was actually an old MI6 agent of ours, named Cammy White..."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same time...  
  
Giorgio Castillo punched in the number that would link him directly to the SCD headquarters in London, wondering why the hell he should call back to tell the people there he was alright, especially when he was so close to his prey. But he knew he had to, knew that if he didn't that they'd come after him, to chew him out like mother hens and, most dreadfully probably, to stop him. And he didn't want that. Wanted nothing in his way. Especially not friends.  
  
The last thing he wanted was to have to hurt friends to kill Vega.  
  
The phone rang on the other end, and he looked around at the passerbies that were passing him, going about in their daily lives with most of them having troubles no more challenging than how to pay this our that bill, what would a boyfriend like for his birthday, or how come a wife had grown cold these days. Basic and trival thoughts of normal people.  
  
How he envied them.  
  
On the other side, someone finally picked. "Culhen here." said a high-pitched, scotish voice. Giorgio let go of a breath he had no idea he was holding all that time. Mark. Not Cindy. Good. Excellent. Mark, he could talk with presently : underneath the joviality was a practical man, a man who understood. Cindy...well, it would have been a scene with Cindy, and he might have let loose of his temper. And she would be hurt, she was like that. And he'd feel guilty, damn her.  
  
"Mark, its..."  
  
"Giorgio! Where the hell are you? Jeremy said you skipped out on him and Joan when they were about to help Cammy!"  
  
Giorgio grimaced. He was going to feel guilty anyway, it seemed. "Si, si, that's true. Tell them I'm sorry for me, si? I'll tell them myself when I get back."  
  
"Back? Where are you?" asked Mark anxiously. Evidently he knew damned well where, he was probably just hoping it wasn't true.  
  
"New York. And before you ask, yes, it's where Chun-Li was attacked."  
  
Silence. Then, a cough. "Don't do that, Giorgio. First I don't think you can find him..."  
  
"Oh, but I already have, amigo." he cut in. "Chun-Li busted him up good and he didn't run far after that. He's still alive, but incredibly weak. I probably won't even break a sweat taking care of this perro bastardo."  
  
"Don't do it. It won't change what he did one bit. Your brother and his family will still be dead, and you..."  
  
"And I'll have avenged them." he spat, his anger building. "Its too late for pretty words, amigo. And its too late for forgiveness - if it was even POSSIBLE to forgive. Don't try my patience. Jer, Cindy and Julia, they may not have killed before. But you and me and Brisby and Wolfman, we all did. This is no different!"  
  
"It is different, damn you!!" snapped Mark, his own patience obviously wearing thin. "We killed when we had no choice, or when we were ordered to. But this...this is..."  
  
"A vendetta? Bravo! That's exactly what it is. It was my condition for joining SCD. Brisby allowed it, so deal with it."  
  
A sigh. Morose. Regretful. Reluctant. Accepting.  
  
"Okay. Do it if you want. No paint off my wall. But just be careful, okay?"  
  
"As always. By the by, how did they do with Cammy?"  
  
"They succeeded somehow, althought Jeremy assured us it wasn't him that did it, but rather she herself. He just helped. Well, she's on her own power, but let's say she's running on default mode."  
  
"What do you mean by that?" the spanish inquired, intrigued by the phrasing.  
  
"That she's showing just slightly more emotions then a turtle, if you catch my drift. But at least she talks normally - althought Jer and Joan are the only ones who get more than one or two sentences at a time."   
  
Giorgio frowned. That didn't sound like the Cammy he had met years ago. But then, who knew what she had been through back at Shadowlaw. The implications were indeed frightening. It was time to drop this discussion and go back to the hunt, however.  
  
"Well, amigo, I'm sure she'll come around eventually. Its too bad I haven't seen to this up 'till now, but I should be back soon. Probably in two or three days, sooner if all goes well."  
  
"I know." said Mark bleakly. "I'd wish you luck, but I can't in this case. Just...just remember that if you walk down that road, it'll damned hard to come back.  
  
"I know. Only too well. Ciao, amigo." and with that, he hung up.  
  
Yes, he knew only too well how dark his road was. He felt the blood of his family shy away from the prospect. He knew his brother probably never would have done it, so kind was he. But he wasn't Manuel. He wasn't a nice guy when it came to these things. He did what he had set himself to do for six years.  
  
Tonight, if all went well, it would end. No more vendetta. Only death.  
  
And his conscience.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One hour later...  
  
Rose, a woman who had seen and suffered much in her surprisingly - to others - long life, leaned back on the delicate wooden chair that and closed her eyes. She did not sigh - she had long ago suppressed her feelings of despair and hesitation - but she did feel a new weight on her shoulders.  
  
Mind-control. From Bison, she'd seen it before, and heard of it in dark rumors. It didn't surprise her that the man was still intent on this artless and savage way to provoque total obedience. And why not? He'd done far worse in his life, she knew. Had used his immense psychic gifts - which he grandly and proudly dubbed his 'Psycho Power' - to kill and to hurt, long before he founded his Shadowlaw and became a worldwide threat. Those he controlled, often never broke out of it. Only a very few ever did.  
  
She opened her eyes and looked at the woman in front of her with calm, sad eyes. Her own psychic powers, althought not as strong as Bison's did allow her to peer into the minds of others - something she rarely did, and then, with great reluctance - and read what was there, but it was unnecessary here. The young woman - so young! Had she ever been that young - had the eyes of someone who had seen and felt a lot. The scarred look of extreme loniliness, and the glint of the determination that had allowed her to survive it and thrive. That, more than anything, was why Rose trusted her so much.  
  
"A terrible story. How sad it is when these things happen. And how is this Cammy White doing?"  
  
Julia sighed. "There's good and bad. She is free of Bison's control, or so it seems like. But she's well...still zombie-like. She shows no emotion, cares for nothing but training, and talks to few people, and even those don't get much out of her. To be truthful, its bloody creepy."  
  
"Yes, I would imagine it would be. I must however tell you that I am not surprised. I have seen this before."  
  
Her young friend looked at her with frank interest. Her eyes were intent as she took in everything Rose said. "Are you saying that others broke Bison's mind-control before?" was the pointed question.  
  
Rose nodded. "Yes, there were others. But it was mostly when Bison was younger - perhaps about your age - and that his powers were still raw and himself still undisciplined. And they had been under his control only a few days, two weeks at most. Althought they did show signs of withdrawal, they managed to emerge rapidly from the self-imposed emotional exile after a short while. But your Cammy White, you are telling me it has been YEARS. I can't imagine what could have happened to her in all that time." Or rather, she did, and didn't care to use her imagination on it.  
  
The soldier in front of her hesitated, and once again Rose did not need her powers to know what was going throught her mind. How long has she known Bison? How old is he, anyway? among other things, were what was undoubtedly racing through her. Rose understood the hesitation, the questionning. And hoped this young woman never learned the true answers.  
  
The question she gave was more open. "So, are you saying that there's nothing we can do?"  
  
"I am saying, "she retorted mildly "That it is normal that this Cammy shows no emotions, and probably will not for quite some time. The true length of that time depends on many factors."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
Rose considered. "Willpower comes foremost to my mind. If her spirit is strong, she will recover that much quicker. If her emotions are naturally strong, that will also help. Ah, there is also outside influence. Never dismiss that as nothing."  
  
Julia shook her head, comprehending deep down but still in need of clarification. "I can see what you roughly mean, but what d'you mean exactly by outside influence."  
  
"To be blunt, I would say showing friendship, preoccupation. Caring, too. Affection, if that was possible." she looked at her young friend's face intently. "Do any of your comrades show anything that could be one of these traits."  
  
The young soldier frowned, considering, analysing what she remembered of those Rose knew she considered family. It was a grueling task: althought a formidable agent, inside the organisation itself she was still self-effaced, and interacted less than some. It was a long time before she spoke again. When she did, it was with the slowness of someone who was struggling to truly grasp what she had seen.  
  
"Well, I only saw the reactions of colonel Wolfman, Joan and Jeremy back there. The colonel seems to care, althought he's rarely present, more preoccupied by arranging Cammy's release from Interpol jurisdiction. Joan cares for her. At first I think it was just a doctor-patient thing, but now she really seems to want to help her." she paused, frowning. "Jer, well, Jer is something else."  
  
Rose lifted an interested brow. "Oh? How so?"  
  
"He's...well...closer. He tries to speak to her more than the others, goes out of his way to see her. He cares a lot about her, that's for sure. Joan told me there's even something akin to affectionm from him, althought I've seen nothing myself to point to that."  
  
"And how is she responding to his...let us say 'intense caring'?" Rose inquired.  
  
Deeper frown. "I don't think she does, really. Maybe she talks a bit more to him than anyone else. Ahh, I can't be sure. There's something I feel I should remember. God knows I don't like criticising my friends. But its good, right? That he cares about her?"  
  
"Very good. Although he'll have to proceed very carefully with her. She might latch on to him without really thinking about it. And if he ever showed vile, violent emotions towards her..." she fell silent, brooding.  
  
Julia, however, didn't want it to be the end. "What will happen?"  
  
"Whatever it is, it might break her. Completely. Never let it happen."  
  
Such pain your victims must endure. Do you know, Bison, how they feel? Or have you stopped caring altogether? Someday you will have to answer for that. Someday soon.  
  
I intend to be there, Bison.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Three hours later...  
  
It was the evening in New York. The great city was getting sleepy, as its citizens went back from a hard day's work to enjoy the company of friends, family, or just to relax by themselves. The hussle and bustle of the day was receding already to a calmer humming.  
  
That is, for the respectable citizens. For those who lurked in the shadows, the day was just beginning. Daylight belonged largely to those who respected the law, those who had clean hands and clean consciences. Those who stole and hurt and defiled took to the back alleys, the small streets and the no man' land in the slums, waiting. When night came, however, they stepped out of the shadows, into the night, their uncaring friend who shielded them from that annoying thing called the authorities.  
  
Nights walking alone in New York was precarious at best, deadly at worst. To do that, one had to be either mad, driven, or very strong.  
  
Giogio Castillo was driven and also very strong. As for madness, he wasn't sure. With what he was about to do he was very uncertain.  
  
He stood on top of one of an hospital building, watching another such building intently. In this building, Vega was being treated, he knew. Treated for very grave wounds, from an unknown source. Nor did the doctors really care, as long as he paid them. Ah, the sensibilities of the modern world!  
  
Giorgio knew the source of those wounds. Knew her quite well. He'd visited Chun-Li where she was recovering from the vicious battle between herself and the savage spanish assassin, and had been glad to see her gradually recovering. There he had met another acquaintance, William Guile, whom he'd barely seen since Charlie's mysterious disappearance. The airforce captain and Interpol agents had been in high spirits, and he had been loathe to spoil the moment. Still, he had had to tell of what he was about to do to people that could truly understand. So he had.  
  
They had listened to him carefully, sympathetically. Not judging him, like he knew many others in the SCD were judging him right now. Chun-Li had only warned him not to become a monster like Vega, while Guile had just said that he understood, and both finally promised him they wouldn't divulged this to anyone.   
  
It felt good to be understood sometimes...  
  
He used his infrared binoculars to get a full impression of the place he was about to enter. Vega was on the fourth floor of the building. He couldn't risk being seen climbing the outside wall like a spider, althought that would probably be the best way to do his...deed...without attracting undue attention. But, no, he wasn't about to enter an hospital like a thief. He knew Vega was alone in that room, so all he had to do was dodge guards and nurses, to virtually walk unseen amongst people. Well, he wasn't Julia, but he knew enought stealth and tricks to do it adequately.  
  
He had played out the scene quite meticulously in his mind. He would wait for the right moment, when nurses and orderlies were as far away from the room as could be, before entering silently. Then he'd do it. Swiftly. Oh, Vega would put up a fight, no doubt, but from what the medical reports he had taken described, he wasn't in a state to stand up to an ordinary strong man, let alone a trained soldier. He was but a shadow of his former self, a wounded wolf lickings its wounds, awaiting the time when he regained enough strength to rise again.  
  
Giorgio intended that the bastard never rise again, period. Then Manuel and all those other Vega killed could really rest in peace.  
  
"I would like to understand this." boomed a deep voice behind him in halting english.  
  
The spanish veteran had whipped around at the sound of the first syllable, taking on a ready stance by force of habit, and wondering how anyone could have escaped his notice so thoroughly, while his every senses had been on alert. His eyes found very easily who had just spoken. And he faltered, wondering if this wasn't some kind of warrior.  
  
The person in fron of him was a man who stood a towering seven feet tall, with mucles rippling across his large chest, his strong-boned arms and his long - and extremely agile - feet. He was bald, head-shaved - as were many who practiced his style of martial arts. Only two wounds showed on the man. One was a patch on a eye that had been lost - if reports be true - years ago, while the other was far more fantastic. All across his chest, in a long, jagged mesh of brown flesh, was an immense scar that had been carved by the one man that had been able to defeat this fighter.  
  
All this went throught Giorgio's head in a flash, and he found himself struck dumb for a moment.  
  
"Sagat" was the only thing he could say for a moment.  
  
And in the very next moment, he gritted his teeth, assumed a fighting position and brought to his mind every single technique he had ever learned. Giorgio Castillo wasn't one to stay paralysed. He knew that if the giant Muy Thaï champion intended to kill him, that he was a deadman already, and that nothing he could do would change that. However, the thought of dying without a fight, like a coward or an inept fighter, was completely unacceptable. Yes, he would die but, Dios, he was going to go down fighting with all he had!  
  
The champion, however, didn't look as if he wanted to fight. He just stood there, like a great statue, spearing the smaller man with a grave expression from his good eye. Giorgio couldn't fathom what Sagat was thinking, but stuck to the unspoken rules of the street and waited for his opponent to put up his defense. When he didn't, the spanish got curious, then frustrated by the lack of movement.  
  
"What are you waiting for, Sagat! Put up your defense so we can get on with this!" he growled, momentarily forgetting the fear he felt.  
  
The giant man did not budge, did not rise to the bait. Instead he simply asked. "Are you challenging me?"  
  
Giorgio was stunned and barely managed to keep it from showing. What was this guy up to? Didn't he want to fight? This was something he wasn't prepared to: to face one of the three great Shadowlaw warriors and ASKED if HE wanted to fight. Unbelievable.  
  
Still, he had to answer. The answer itself was the only one that came to his mind, the only one he felt he needed. "No. Do you?"  
  
A grave look again. Then, the enormous man shook his head slightly. Relief mingled with confusion washed throught the spanish fighter. He had been prepared to sell his life dearly, but found himself glad he wasn't being asked to sell it just yet.  
  
He relaxed his stance, careful not to let his guard down. Sagat was reputed to be an ethical and honorable man, but was that reputation still up to date? Anyone working for Shadowlaw didn't have a clean slate - well, perhaps except for some of the mind-controlled people.  
  
"Then, if you do not wish to fight me, why?..." he trailed off, thinking he understood. "Vega. You're here to get him back." he said dully, bitterly. Vengeance was escaping him. There was nothing he could do against Sagat, and he knew it.  
  
The champion surprised him again, then, by chuckling mirthlessly. "Hardly," he stated, "I am here in New york to dispatch Vega for failing, and a mind-controlled Agent named Cammy as well."  
  
Upin hearing Cammy's name, the veteran brought his defense up, defiantly. "You can't do that! She's free from your control! If you want to take her, you'll have all the SCD ON TO you, and even you won't win against those odds amigo!"  
  
"She is out of Bison's control?" the giant asked curiously, obviously surprised.  
  
"Yes!" was the snappy retort.  
  
Sagat seemed to consider something. Then to come up with decision.  
  
"Very well, then." he said wearily. "Killing a mindless drone I had no problem with, it only seemed..." he struggled to find the right word. "BENEATH me. But if she has the chance to live outside 'his' influence, then I will let her have that chance." he nodded to himself. "That leaves me only with Vega." he seemed rather relived, Giorgio thought.  
  
"Actually, senor Sagat..." Castillo found himself saying.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I actually came here to kill him myself." he said, astonished that he had said that. Why not shout it for the entire world to hear, while he was at it?!? Still, it caught the huge man's attention, and his good eye widened.  
  
"So THAT is what you came here for." no excalmation, only stating a fact. "I must admit, I wondered for a while if you weren't an ally of his, with your spanish accent." Giorgio bristled and he raised a hand. "Peace, fighter. I see now that I was wrong. You are certainly not an ally of his, not with the compassion you show for Cammy. Vega is quite incapable of it. I was just surprised to learn you were actually here to assassinate him. Why would you do it, I might ask."  
  
"I have my reasons." and good solid ones at that, but he had no intention to share them with a Shadowlaw agent.  
  
The tall, muscular man nodded sagely, as if discussing murders was the most casual thing in the world. "I suppose you do. Vega hardly has made anything but enemies over the years. So you wish to kill him in my place? I can then tell you I was not sure whether to kill him or let him live. After all, being disfigured is far worst than dying to someone as vain as him."  
  
Giorgio let down his guard down completely at the last. "Then let me do it. I obviously want this far more than you do." he hated being down to pleading over commiting murder - everything he stood for rebelled against it - but for now, he had to do it. Just this once.  
  
The large shoulders shrugged. "I don't see why I shouldn't let you. Lord Bison wants him out of the way. Who did it will certainly not matter." he waved a hand slightly, in acceptance.  
  
"Thank you." Giorgio felt ashamed when he heard joy in his voice. Was hatred and vengeance truly making him into what he fought against?  
  
"You should go now, He might try to escape soon."  
  
Reflexively Giorgio looked back at the window where he knew Vega was kept in observation. Only a few moments, but when he turned back, he was astounded to find Sagat gone. Vanished. How did he DO that?!?  
  
Shaking his head, his wits feeling rather scattered, Giorgio turned back to observing the hospital, trying to decide what he had best do. Suddenly he felt so pathetic, trying to kill a man who couldn't defend himself. It just seemed unfair, and he boasted himself a fair man.  
  
Then something Sagat had said hit him.  
  
After all, being disfigured is far worst than dying to someone as vain as him.  
  
As he thought about this sentence, his mouth started to form a smile. It wasn't a pleasant one by any means. Not something he wore, even on his worst days. It was twisted and sick, and seemed alien to his usual jovial and proud face.  
  
Fine, then. He wouldn't kill him after all.  
  
He'd do worse.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One hour later...  
  
"What in all the bloody hells?!?"  
  
The sentence was uttered by a crimson-coloured Julia Simmons. It was rather a sight, seeing her so angry. She rarely did get to that kind of work-up. But when she did, people tended to steer clear of her, for she could be dangerous. She indeed looked dangerous right now, enough for her friend Rose to look a bit wary. But she was so angry, she didn't care about her friend right now as she rose from her seat in pure fury.  
  
"You're telling me that that damn bloody spanish fool has gone ON HIS OWN to take on Vega himself?" she howled into the poor cellular phone, and by that into the unfortunate ear of Mark Culhen, who said he had wanted the others of the team to know.  
  
"Look, lass, it's not like Vega's in top shape, anyway..."  
  
"I don't care if the bloody assassin has fifty broken bones or none! Going after Vega means going after the others, and that's suicide. What if he met Sagat or or Balrog? You'd have to be potty to do what he did."  
  
"Potty? Aye." Mark said firmly. "But he's something else right now. He's vengeful, which can be the same thing with someone having his kind of willpower."  
  
"I don't care WHAT it means!" she fumed, refusing to calm down. "Have you talked with the others?"  
  
"Yep. Brisby said it was Giorgio's sole condition for entering the SCD, this free vendetta. Jeremy said he'll try to go get him back - with Joan and, believe it or not, CAMMY! But they're really not sure they'll make it, even though they ARE in the same city. I mean, they don't even know where to look for!"  
  
"Damn!" she cursed aloud, this time giving a silent apologetic look at Rose, who now seemed unfazed, just slightly worried. She couldn't belive this was happening. Couldn't believe someone as easy-going and as solid as Giorgio Castillo could do something this reckless, this insane. It seemed as if a small part of her world had gone out of phase with the rest and it unnerved her. No, scared her.  
  
"Okay! I'm going there myself! Tell the others I'm coming!"  
  
"Lass..."  
  
"JUST TELL THEM, MARK!!!!" she shouted, then shut off her cell-phone without waiting for a reply. She then turned to Rose. "Sorry about that, Rose. I..."  
  
"You are worried. That is nothing to be ashamed of." was the smooth interruption.   
  
"Pissed is what I am. Of all the lame-brained..." she managed to keep herfelf from spouting any more insult, but her ire remained. "I'm sorry Rose. I have an old fool to get back to sanity. I'm afraid the rest of our conversation has to wait."  
  
The lavender-haired woman gave her a smile. "Quite all right. I said what I had to say about the matter. I wish you all - and especially her - good luck."  
  
And it was that smile that Rose gave her that jogged her fuzzy memory, and gave her that tiny piece of information she had been unable to remember but had known was important to the subject of Cammy's actions.  
  
"There is something, however, that I just remembered, regarding Cammy. " she paused. "I said that even Jeremy's attention wasn't fazing her in the least. I'm not sure that's quite true."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
"Because, once, when Jer wasn't looking, and that I was idly eavesdropping, I saw her give him a smile. A very short, very uncertain smile, but a smile it was."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
That evening...  
  
Vega tentatively touched his face, knowing what he would feel but feeling the need to make himself believe. As soon as he touched it, he felt the pain lanced throught him, pain he had never felt from that part of his once-perfect body for as long as he could remember. As it was, the whole left side of his face was a mangled ruin, and it maddened him. The rest of his wounds, his broken bones, his cracked and broken ribs, the numerous bruises on his arms and upper body, they all had no consequence compared to what had happened to his irreplacable, uniquely beautiful face.  
  
All because of that BITCH. I'll kill her. I swear I will! Slowly, Madre de Dios! Very slowly. She will scream under me, and I won't stop, won't stop until she dies. No one ever hit my face. No one! NO ONE! I'll kill her!  
  
It had only been a normal assassination at first. Bison had decided that this Chun-Li was getting a little too much an annoyance, and had dispatched Vega to take care of the problem, and 'to go have some fun with Miss Li.' And he had gone with every attention of having fun with the woman. He had watched beside Bison while the monitor Cyborg had scanned her, and had found the view very appealing. Even Bison had made a few appreciative comments on the view. It had given him ideas. Very good, very entertaining ideas. If all had gone according to his plan, his assignment would have been accomplished. And he would have walked away satisfied, even happy.  
  
But things hadn't gone according to plan. The asian bitch had put up more resistance than he had expected her to. But that had been alright, he had always loved a challenge. And he had been having the upper hand all the while, anyway. He'd cut open deep wounds on her, and had almost knocked her senseless.  
  
Almost. That was when had made his mistake. He taken off his mask and gloated, while he should have finished her off. Had he known, he would have done exactly that. But he did not, and she found the strength to throw a whole damn SOFA at his head, and had subsequently mangled his face with her foot while he was down and dazed. It had completely obliterated his reason for a long moment, and in that time he had made unforgivable mistakes, and she had turned the tables on him, ultimately pummeling him with so many kicks that he finally burst throught the wall of her appartment, landing in a boken heap. He was lucky to have survived, and even more lucky to have managed to limp to this hospital, where doctors had assured him his face would completely recover in time, as would the rest of his body. It was just a question of time.  
  
Fine. He would wait until he recovered completely, than train himself as hard as he could, before going after that bitch to gain his revenge. She'd never suspect before he'd be on her. And then it'd be too late for her.  
  
A sound. Soft, stealthy, ouside the door. Vega stiffened. It wasn't a nurse, that much he could tell. Nurses were efficient, but they didn't mask their presence. That one did. And that made Vega nervous. In the state that he was, he was extremely vulnerable, and for all his bluster, knew it.  
  
The door opened soundlessly, and a masked, black-gerbed figure entered. Stricken with dread, Vega couldn't move. Suppositions roamed throught his frantic mind: had Bison decided he had failed, and sent another assassin? Was this an ally or a foe? What the hell is happening? All these and more ran throught his mind, but no answers were forthcoming. However, he could tell that it was a tall man, athletic, and from the way he held himself, a fighter of discipline and experience.  
  
It was truly an uncertain and frightening situation, and the so-called Spanish Assassin wasn't one who was used to fear.  
  
The figure closed the door, and looked at him for several moment. Then, there was a chuckle. A satisfied and malicious chuckle, uttered with a voice Vega vaguely recognized.  
  
"Honestly, amigo, I never expected to have it so easy with you." said the figure amidst its mirth. And then the stranger removed his mask. And Vega's unease turned to terrible dread.  
  
"Castillo." he sneered, trying to keep the quake out of his voice. "So, you've come to gloat over my state of being, bastardo?"  
  
The spanish soldier who had been a nuisance to Veha's schemes for years smiled pleasantly, but the smile did not reach his eyes, which remained fixed and implacable, like those of a fierce predator eyeing a very slippery and dangerous prey. The dread he felt started to mount quickly. He knew Castillo, knew how much the man hated him, even remembered why. Manuel Castillo had once been targetted by Shadowlaw because of his ties with several anti-terrorist contacts. Vega had been wanting to visit his country for a while, and had taken the assignment, although he felt it was a trifle he shouldn't have taken care of. When he saw the family - ah, the wife, such beauty - his perspective had chance, and he had used all of his imagination to kill of the family members one by one. It was a masterpiece of artful slaughter, and he had because of that visited that part of Spain in high spirits. He didn't know he had created a nemesis that day.  
  
"So, you've come to kill me? How boring." that was certainly why he had come, but he wasn't going to show fear to this particular enemy. Never. His pride wouldn't allow it.  
  
"Ohhhhh noooo'" said Castillo, chuckling. "I've not come for that. I wanted to, at first, but then I had a talk with your amigo, Sagat..."  
  
"Sagat? Impossible! How can you have met Sagat and still stand?" he ranted. What was wrong with the world today? And what was Sagat doing near this place. Did Shadowlae intend to silence him. Depressing thought, that.  
  
"And he's told me something interesting: that being disfigured was worse to you than death. So..." his smile grew wider as he drew an army knife from an hidden pocket in his black costume. "...let's make sure you have the kind of face that goes down in history."  
  
Now Vega was afraid. And angry. Something hot and unreasonable and pretentious gave his body new energy as he lurched out of his hospital bed and charged his enemy. No ONE would deface him again, and certainly not a weakling like Castillo! He would show him true spanish strength and will today!  
  
The will was there. Full force, unrelenting, full of anger and hatred. But the energy he felt was an illusion: his body felt stiff and clumsy, and the broken bones within him sapped his strength considerably.  
  
Castillo's eyes showed amusement as he lunged, and Vega realized that he had been goaded to fight in this state. Once again, he had acted recklessly. What would be the price?  
  
His nemesis - still smiling - sidestepped him easily, caught hold of Vega with an iron grip, and before the assassin could even begin to recover, drove his right knee directly into his Vega's back there was an audible, ominous cracking sound, and the crippled man felt pain as he never felt before, pain that started up down in his back and came up to his brain in a great blaze that consumed all other sensation. He would have howled, except he received a sweeping punch in the face before he could, snapping him backward. Right back into the hospital bed.  
  
"To bed now, children!" said Castillo in a mocking tone, mimicking an motherly voice. Vega growled at him, consumed by fury.  
  
"I will kill you for this, Castillo!" he snarled, his face burning with renewed pain.  
  
The other man appeared unperturbed. "No you won't." And with that, he drove his knife - which had nver left his hand - right into Vega's foot. The assassin opened his mouth to scream, but it died in his throat. No pain. Absolutely no pain. No pain, no NOTHING!  
  
Like his legs were.  
  
"NOO!!!" he screamed. His nemesis's face showed distinct pleasure at his outburst, as if the horror he felt from Vega was some sort of sweet wine."  
  
The smiled became a smirk, mocking and cruel. "I see you got the gist of my argument. Your impression is right Vega. I've just shattered the part of your spinal cord that Chun-Li had weakened. You won't walk again." Then he kicked Vega in the ribs, breaking them all over again. Ignoring the assassin's scream, the vengeful bastard continued. "Never again! You're a fucking cripple, but worse, you're a cripple that no one will care about. And you know what? You'll have to live with yourself, Vega. Unloved, without respect, pitied by those around you as you waste away, the shadow of the fighter you were. How does that sound? To be beneath me? To be beneath EVERYONE like me?" Castillo threw back his head and let loose a booming laugh, full of scorn and contempt. Then, he started to walk away, pulling his mask back on, still laughing.  
  
"No, this can't be happening!! I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS!!!" Vega screamed at his nemesis. The bastard stopped at the door, and looked back for a moment.  
  
"The knife is still there in your leg, Vega. Your useless leg." and with that he was gone, leaving the assassin alone with despair and hatred. Vega looked at the imbedded knife.  
  
Then thought about how people would now see him - an helpless cripple. A man with nothing left. Not where he came from. A doomed man.  
  
What choice was there to make?  
  
_________________________________________________________________  
  
Well, here it goes! I know, it's more static than the other recent chapters, but I had to include it, for it will have repercussions later in the story, as does all else I've written.  
  
Next Chapter: Cammy joins the SCD in her first mission. But is there still hope for her emotions to return to her after her ordeal? See that next time!  
  
See ya soon, guys! Remember, I crave FEEDBACK and IDEAS!!!  
  
Jeremy 


	12. Chapter 10

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 10  
  
August 14, 1997  
  
It was evening in Limerick. The people living in the city were now mostly enjoying the comforts of home, whether it was a small appartment or a great manor. Few passerbies were sen on the streets, except a few teenagers hanging out, a couple or two doing a love stroll. Not that people weren't present - Those whom one could see were having conversations sitting on terrasses on in a backyards. All in all, it was a quiet evening, and darkness was fast envelloping the city in a blanket of calm and satisfaction.  
  
That was the kind of setup two men - seemingly in their twenties - were counting on. Had one looked at them, he would have seen two men of acerage height, fine built and strong gait, wearing simple street clothes. Nothing unusual. One was slightly larger than the other, sporting long black hair tied in a ponytail, with dull green eyes that seemed to stare right through people. Arrayed in a black shirt, coat, shoes and pants, he was a somber and somewhat impressive sight.  
  
But it was the other one that always gave onlookers a strange impression.  
  
Not that that person was dressed more spectacularly. In fact, with his yellow t-shirt and blue jeans, he was more ordinary-looking by far. His hair was extremely short and a dull brown, with brown eyes. None of this seemed out of the ordinary, either.  
  
But there was something. An impression of danger and menace seemed to permeate every movement the man made, impressions that were heightened by the searching, hard looks he always seemed to be giving. His eyes, althought not special in their sheer expression, also gave one who looked at them the impression one was staring into a covered well, containing unfathomable things that few could ever explain. One thing was certain for all concerned: this was a dangerous man. And a man who knew it well. His true name, no one knew except the High Master. The only name he answered to was Kale.  
  
Kale was enjoying the evening, although he never showed it in his expression. Such delicate balance of heat and moisture, this day was, with a pleasant wind cooling the temperature just enough that it was perfect. No one on the street, no obstacle, and silence all around except faint sounds he cared nothing about. This was a perfect evening to be alive.  
  
Also, to him, the best kind of evening to be killing. After all, if one had to kill someone, why not do it comfortably?  
  
"Ahhh, " he sighed contentedly. "What a magnificient evening. Don't you think so, Everick? Don't you think its nice to be walking under the star-lit sky with not a care in the world?" No answer. Nor had he expected one. Everick wasn't the most talkative of fellow. No matter, he preffered his own conversation, anyway. "You're right, beautiful breeze. Really makes you wish for a comfortable chair on a comfortable lawn, sipping some iced tea and listening on and on..."  
  
"The potential recruit lives on the fifth house to our left." stated his pony-tailed companion simply, not heeding what Kale had said one bit.  
  
Kale flared the nostrils of his thin but somewhat hawkish nose. "You always do that to me, my friend! Always right when I start imagining nice things, you have to come in and maul my thoughts." he sniffed.  
  
Green eyes looked over at him and a smile flickered - but not for long. "I truly apologise for cuttting off your imagination, but I must remind you we are here on a very delicate retrieval mission. The Circle wouldn't like us to fail because we are inatentive to details. I, for one, do not intend it."  
  
"Oh. come on! " Kale huffed "The old guys of the Circle always complain for something, so if we failed, we'd be in deep water no matter what we did. And we've never failed anyway, so lay off, will ya?"  
  
"Of course. Of course." another small smile. "Just remember that its important, you know."  
  
Kale huffed and mumbled until the targetted fifth house. He gave one look at it. Two-storied. Grey. Nothing special, no spice, no flavour. How boring. He saw a few small trees and clumps of flowers hugging the path that led to the house, some toys that hadn't been picked. Really standard of so many families that lived all around the damn dirtball the human race proudly called the Earth. That kind of thing made him want to sleep. Then he saw the car. Blue, japanese make, no dirt, well-maintained. His eyes lit. Well at least something was interesting here.  
  
Everick strolled up the short path casually, Kale following close behind, still flinging some looks at the blue car like another man would to a pretty girl. It was only when the fron door opened in answer to Everick's firm knock that he brought his attention to the mission. A man in his early thirties - obviously irritated at some interruption - poked his round physique through and regarded the two with the look of someone who had every intention of slamming the door in their face.  
  
"What is it?" snapped the man in thick irelander accent.  
  
"Are you Dennis Curney?" asked Everick pleasantly. The man blinked.  
  
"Well, yes, that's me alright. What...?"  
  
Kale clapped his hands. "Great! Then let's do it!" he stated cheerfully.  
  
The man named Dennis looked at him in irritation and confusion. It was the last act he made as living man. Faster than lightning, Everich pulled a dagger from his coat and stabbed upward with a strength that was worth that of someone twice his size. The razor-sharp blade went from the chinright throught the brain of the victim. The man gurgled something then fell backward, dead already. Everick and Kale hopped inside, closing the door behind them.  
  
"Clean and quick. Bravo!"  
  
"Thank you."  
  
At that moment a thin woman of about the same age the man was - obviously the wife - came from the living room towards them.  
  
"Honey, were those...?" she stopped and stared at her dead hurband's body, then at the two young men who stood next to it. Her eyes widened. Before she could do anything - scream, faint, run, whatever came to her mind, Kale stepped forward with a cheerful smile that came nowhere near to hiding the coldness that had sprung in his eyes. His hand extended.  
  
"Powers that be around me, strike swiftly and true." he intoned. "Take life where I lay the path."  
  
With this, power crackled and flowed from his hand in eery blue light, envelloping the woman. She screamed for moment as it touched her, then doubled over and died within moments. The mirth returning to his eyes, he made a victory dign at his dark-haired partner.  
  
"Well done, as always." was the praise he received.  
  
"Yeah, I'm the best at this!" he smiled. "So, where's the kid?"  
  
"Up there! They have two children. The boy is expendable. The girl is the one that we want" was the calm answer. "You go. I'll take care of things here."  
  
"Sure! Be right back!" with that, Kale hopped up the stairs, humming a tune that he had heard earlier that day. On the top of the stairs, he encountered the boy Everick had told about. Small, no more than three, he was trudging to look if he had heard someone scream. He blinked in surprise as he saw what was to him an unknown person.  
  
"Hi, kid!" said the brown-haired man cheerfully, with a wide smile.  
  
The little child smiled in his turn. "Hi."  
  
Never loosing his pleasant look and smile, Kale grabbed the boy by the front of the head and flung him into the nearest wall. There was a crunch, and the dead boy's small body spasmed before becoming still. The man let go, still smiling, resuming the tune that didn't want to let go. He then skipped into the room next to the boy's. Bingo! A cradle. And his target. He chuckled when he saw it. Marvelous day!  
  
The baby was no older than six months, still sleeping despite the bits of noises that had gone on in the house. It was blissfully aware that anything had happened, and was just as unaware of Kale's presence. The man frowned. If the brat really had the Gift, she should have sensed his presence. But maybe she was too young yet to differenciate. There was only one way to find out if this mission was worthwhile or not. Muttering to himself about the total waste of time, Kale reached out and shook the baby carefully. It awoke, displeased and surprised, and blinked at him. Immediately, the cheerful man reached out with the force of his gaze, searching the aura of the child.  
  
What he felt made his eyes widen in surprise. This brat had the Gift indeed! He felt vast abilities to tap Outer Powers, and a substantial Inner Power. This child, if trained properly, would grow into a very powerful woman. And the circle would make sure she received that training.  
  
He relinquished his gaze, satisfied with what he had just seen. "Well, child, it seems we're going to get to know each other in time." he whispered with a wolfish grin. The baby, free of the gaze, only understood that it had been rudely awakened and started to cry loudly.  
  
Kale put two fingers on the child's forehead. "Powers that be around me, give slumber to that which I deem true." A spark of blue energy lanced out, striking the babe on the forehead. In barely a few seconds, it had stopped crying and was fast asleep. Kale picked it up and went back to the stairs.  
  
"Heheh. Good night, kid." he sneered as he passed the little boy's body. He then descended the stairs. Everick was waiting for him at the bottom, looking as patient and detached as ever. Never had Kale seen him otherwise except once. He hoped no one would be foolish enought to try to make the event happen a second time.  
  
"I see you are as gentle with children as ever." the black-haired man stated flatly.  
  
"What can I say?" was the jovial answer. "I always had a soft spot for such little darlings. Is everything ready?"  
  
"Yes, this house will blow up in...two hundred and eighty seconds."  
  
Kale nodded. "Fine. Let's goooo!" And they exited the house casually, closing the door behind them.   
  
They hadn't gotten more than ten houses out that they heard a fantastic boom. They both turned to observe the debris that were flying in all directions. People were coming out of the nearby houses, some screaming, some gaping at the site, others running to see if they could help. As if they could do anything to stop the little inferno the house had become. Kale felt a pang of regret that the explosion had scrapped that nice blue car, but that was life. He held up the child, which was still slumbering.  
  
"From now on your old life does not exit. You are part of the Circle now, like I am. Dessara will be your name from now on." he smiled widely. "Welcome, Sister!"  
  
And they resumed their journey, away from the burning house. The neighbourhood was becoming noisy anyway.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Three days later...  
  
Major William Brisby was revising some very vague details on a report he had been given - what did they teach in school to kids these days, anyway? - when a knock on the door diverted his attention. He had been expecting it at about this time. He looked at his watch and smiled his grave but warm smile. nine hundred hours exactly. They were right on schedule. But then, these two officers were both known for their punctuality, among other things.  
  
"Come in." he said firmly. Immediately the office door opened, and both Jeremy Storm and Cammy White entered, stiffly and rigid. Brisby took a moment to study the two rising stars of London's SCD Team.   
  
Jeremy was looking mild yet serious, his eyes shining with curiosity and just a little hint of wariness. He was dressed in the black t-shirt and khaki pants of England's military, but hadn't put on his SCD coat, instead holding it slung out over his shoulder. Brisby would normally have frown at this breach of discipline if he hadn't reminded himself of the fact that Jeremy Storm, while an officer of the SCD, wasn't a real soldier. He was attached to the military for his job, that was all. Cammy, for her part, was a soldier, and was looking extremely military like, stiff and at attention while there was slight relaxation on her partner's part. Her long blond braids were the only thing out of place with her show of soldiery perfection. The older man would have enjoyed such a sight, if he had seen anything more than vague determination in her gaze. There was so little emotions there. She was keeping all of it bottled up and carefully sealed, according to Joan. Yet Jeremy had taken a liking to her, and had asked to be paired to her. Although Brisby had been a little suspicious of that, he soon found it was the best thing he could have done.  
  
The two were remarquable together. Both extraordinary fighters, they had brains to match that strength. More than that they seemed to know what the other would do just before he or she did, which allowed an instant reaction time. Added to Jeremy's knack for finding information and Cammy's excellent military procedures,they made a superb team. A strange one, but an excellent one all the same.  
  
"You called for us, sir?" the young man inquired.  
  
He nodded and gestured for them to sit. Jeremy did so immediately, while the blond officer waited for just a single moment before doing so. As she did, he caught a look the young man gave her. A look of faint affection, with strong imprints of sadness and frustration. Brisby sighed inwardly. He knew, as did every member of London's team, that the young Storm had a thing for White. Why he did, when she showed him no such feelings, was a mystery. But he did. Children were becoming so complicated these days. Shaking himself out of his momentary lapse, he went straight to the point.  
  
"I'm glad you two are here. First, let me ask you something: do you know anything about a group called the Circle?"   
  
They hesitated. "I...there are some rumors about them on the streets." ventured Jeremy, reluctantly. "They have the reputation of being the modern equivalent of mages. Most people dismiss them as fairy tales." There was a strange tone to his voice.  
  
"But do YOU believe the tales, Storm?" asked Brisby.  
  
A speculative frown, than a very tentative nod. "I...I think I have no choice but to believe that it is POSSIBLE. After all, my techniques draw a good deal of power from chi, which could easily be taken as a fairy tale as well. At least I keep my mind open about it."  
  
"And what about you, White?"  
  
He wasn't expecting a very lively answer, and, as such, he wasn't disappointed. Cammy just stared at him with her near-lifeless eyes, giving no indication of what was going through her mind. It unnerved him, unnerved them all. Although they all knew she had been through enough to shatter lesser people's sanity, the team had started to grumble behind her back. Even Joan and even Jeremy were almost ready to call it quits. Brisby admitted that he had to do something to help her out of this near-catatonia, but hadn't found what yet.  
  
Despite her mental and emotional problems, she was still efficient. That would have to do for now.  
  
"After Bison, one would believe anything." she stated tonelessly. Brisby recognized the sentence for what it really was: "After what Bison did to me, I would believe anything." From the slight darkening of his grey eyes, Brisby saw that Jeremy had concluded the same.  
  
"Very good. I'm glad you're open-minded about this." he said sternly. "Because the fact is that the group we are presently talking about exists, and has existed for far longer than we were first led to believe. Let me tell you the little we know about them." he passed folders to the two. "The Circle is directly based in Europe, and is strongest in France, Spain, Portugal and Ireland. We don't know about much of their main hideouts and headquarters, because they are extremely secretive and have had more than enough time to burrow themselves so well they don't usually leave traces anymore."  
  
"Sir, if I may." Jeremy interrupted. "Is that of the SCD's ressort? I mean, we are an anti- terrorist group, no? What do they have to do with us?  
  
Brisby shook his head. "We had our eyes on this group for a while, and we don't like the signs that are appearing, especially in Ireland: attacks, murders, unexplained incident abound there and we believe they are to blame for the greater part. Now, the last 'incident' took place three days ago, in Limerick. Note that Limerick is a town where the Circle is suspected to have a lair. Now here is what I want you to do: you and another member of the team will go to Limerick and meet with an undercover agent there. Once you've received his report, you will investigate the town and and find the so-called lair. You are not to act on your own. Call backup as soon as you are certain of its location." he stopped, then looked at them. "This is a very dangerous mission - this isn't Shadowlaw with its more conventional means. These are secretive and manipulative people that harnest a strange power. So be extremely careful when you are there. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir!" They both stated firmly.  
  
"Good. That's all then. All of thge details are in the folders I just handed you. Dismissed."  
  
They stood gave a salute, then started forr the door. Storm, however, stopped at the door, hesitating.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Who's the other member of the investigative team.?"  
  
"Ahh, yes." he gave a slight smile. "Cindy Herman will be your and Cammy's partner."  
  
Storm's face took on a vaguely mortified expression. Knowing at least part of the reasons behind it, it took the commander of the SCD a deal of effort not to chuckle at his young officer's discomfiture. He knew Cindy, and knew how she liked to relate to people. He also knew how much she liked to 'patch things up' or 'spur things along'. She had made herself quite a reputation that way. However...  
  
"I know, Jeremy. I know she's quite the character. I've seen some of that myself." his smile faded. "But she knows more about that group than you do, and she has the kind of deductive skills you and Cammy lack. She'll be extremely useful."  
  
"Yes sir." was the only reply he had. Still displeased but accepting the situation, Jeremy closed the door.   
  
Brisby finally gave a chuckle, as he thought about what Cindy could do with these two unique people. Oh well, they'd have to deal with her.  
  
He just hoped she wouldn't go too far.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One hour later...  
  
"Can you believe it? I'm finally going on a mission!" Cindy squealed, acting more like a girl of fourteen rather than a woman of twenty-eight.   
  
Cornered, Mark Culhen only nodded his head, his eyes remaining glued to his computer console as he typed in numerical sequences, reviewed scans and implanted new programs all at the same time. He liked Cindy. Everybody liked Cindy. But he knew better than to give her more than minimal attention when she was excited. To do so only invited the kind of uncomfortable conversations that he presently neither wanted nor needed.  
  
Cindy, however, wasn't finished. She sighed. "Its been months since I've had anything more than solo missions!"  
  
Mark kept typing with a grunt. No way was he getting into this. He had enough personal problems as it is.  
  
"Jeremy and Cammy...they're a good team, right?" he grunted assent. "You know, Jeremy likes Cammy a lot...do you think that she does too? I can't tell." The question was sharply asked, there was nothing he could do but answer truthfully.  
  
He coughed and shrugged hesitantly. "I...cough...I'm not into that much. She seems to be SLIGHTLY closer to him than the rest of us. Joan does say the possibility is very present. I don't know! How can I? I'm not in her mind." he continued typing stubbornly.  
  
"Hmmm...they'd make such a nice couple..." Then her tone changed, becoming softer, almost conspirational. "I've got an idea."  
  
It was upon hearing this that Mark stopped typing, stopped thinking and almost stopped breathing. Anyone who knew Cindy dreaded the sentence 'I've got an idea'. Not because she was stupid or anything, but because her ideas always revolved over romance and had the very bad tendency to make things worse. Hearing this sentence made anyone in the SCD want to run for their lives. Mark didn't have that option. Knowing that it was a very dangerous action for him to undertake, he swiveled his chair to turn and meet her extactic and contemplative green eyes.  
  
"Cindy, I think ye shouldn't." He said "If the lass and the lad want to become friends or anything more, its their business. I'm not about to do anything to change the way they've been going about each other and neither should ye."  
  
She frowned slightly. Perhaps miffed about the fact he had just asked her to basically lay off, or for some other reason he did not know about. God knew he didn't understand her sometimes. But the last time she had had 'an idea' had been just as Giorgio had returned from his vendetta. Although many were feeling queasy about what he had done, they understood him, and things had gone back the way it always was after only a few days. Except for Julia. Julia hadn't accepted his actions. Had vehemently disagreed with them. That's when Cindy had come in, to 'patch things up'. Consequently, they hadn't talked to each other for almost a month. But she never seemed to notice it was her meddling that made things the way they were now.  
  
"Jeremy doesn't like the cold way she's treating him." she pointed out.  
  
He didn't deny it. Didn't see a reason to, when it was clear that she was right. "Maybe, but its up to him to tell her that. Its not my problem, but HIS." He emphasized 'his' in the hopes it would be received well by his teammate. One look at her, however, showed that he might as well never have bothered. She had that type of look on her face, the look on had when things were already decided.  
  
She nodded to him. "Right, right. " she remarqued vaguely. "However, I'm going to help him push things along." She patted his shoulder. "Thanks a bunch, Mark!"  
  
Mark watched her leave, speechless. "B-b-but I'm SURE that..." he sputtered. By then she was long gone. He turned back to his computer with a sigh.  
  
"...I'm sure he really doesn't need your kind of help." he muttered. He prayed Jeremy wouldn't kill her before the end of the mission.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
Cammy could easily feel that Jer was about to go crazy. But then, he had been stuck next to Cindy during the entire airtrip, and had been forced to listen to one story after another, some strange, some laughable and some absolutely incoherent. Cindy wasn't a nice storyteller, Cammy could well tell, and it did not surprise her one bit that her partner had nearly wanted to jump off the plane with no parachute. The image of Jeremy doing something this unnecessary made her smile, but only inwardly. Always only inwardly. And these events were always quelched fast.  
  
They had just arrived at the town of Limerick, a small city of fifty thousand souls, more or less. She studied what she could see. It was an old town, obviously, although efforts had been undertaken to modernise it. Not a poor city, but not a terribly rich one. On a hill near the town, she could see what appeared to be a castle of some kind. All in all, it looked rather like so many suburban cities of england, only the people here were christians and didn't have the same accent. A typical place. But one that may be more than meets the eye.  
  
Next to her, Jeremy sighed. "Ah, quaint town. Very quaint. I like the atmosphere. Don't you, Cammy?"  
  
"No." was all she said. No intonation. No emotion. Never show emotion. Too painful, brings back too many memories. But she couldn't help but feel a small twinge of sadness when he looked at her in frustration, hurt again that she seemed not to care about what he said. She was so taken by the look that she barely heard Cindy's cheerful voice.  
  
"Come on, kids! We've got to go to our motel first!" was the joyous shout.  
  
Jeremy sighed next to her, turning his attention to the redhead. "Right. Let's do that. Then I'm gonna stroll around the backstreets to meet people."  
  
To Jeremy, 'meeting people' on the backstreets meant getting acquainted with the local social workers, good-natured gangs and tough but honourable street fighters and garnering information. Of course, for the street fighters, sometimes he had to prove he was one of them - by holding his own in a fight. Jeremy had no problem with that. In fact, he yearned for those fights. "Even a weak fighter can win if he knows something you don't. These fights help me learn." he always said. She understood the comment and could see the result - Jeremy's dramatic and constant increase in street fighting skills were readily apparent - but she usually chose not to go, despite his prodding. To her, fighting was training. One does it to accomplish a mission or to defend oneself from hostiles, not for the fun of it.   
  
"And then we're going out to eat." Cindy corrected. "I want some good stuff inside me instead of what they served us on the plane."  
  
"Go with Cammy then. I've got to check it out now to make sure I can meet a few people." was the retort. A rather frantic one - obviously the man wanted to be as far as the red-haired woman as he could be for a while. Cindy seemed to recognize that, for she scowled for a moment, before resuming a cheerfulness that now seemed forced.  
  
"Fine! Suit yourself, its your loss!" she stated airily. "What are you going to eat then."   
  
"Oh, I'll grab a hot-dog or something. Don't worry about it. Now let's get this over with."  
  
They made their way to the motel - walking, because it wasn't that far, and checked in. There they discovered that there were two rooms for them - one for two people and the other only for one person. Upon knowing that, her partner turned a grey-eyed glare towards innocent looking green ones, and asked Cammy if she had a problem with him. She had responded by a negative, although she felt a little wary deep inside. But she knew there was no chance his presence would incur her fear and her nightmares. Ethical about many things, Jeremy was nearly a monk when it came to intimacy and women. No, there was no danger from him.  
  
Why then did she feel so restless? She couldn't say.  
  
They had unpacked their bags quickly both feeling obvious relief at knowing there were two beds. All the while Jeremy lamented.  
  
"I eat all my vegetables at dinner, I don't drink, I don't smoke. I'm MOSTLY honest. I work hard, Hell, I even helped old people cross the street a few times. So why me?!" He shook his fist upward. "Someone's having fun up there, and the day I get up, we're gonna have a talk about putting me with someone like Cindy on a mission!" He stopped, let out a sigh. "There. Settled. Now, time for a bit of fun. Have fun with the red menace, Cammy." He stopped. "Unless you want to come along with me?" There was a trace of hope on his face now, mingled with resignation and the knowledge of what her answer would be.  
  
And something within her wanted desperately to soothe that resignation, that sadness. She wanted to say 'yes, why not, let's go', because then there would be joy on his face, he'd smile at her like he had, those first few days, when she had locked herself off from everything and everyone. She would like to tell him how she loved that smile then, how she loved it still right now.  
  
But she couldn't. The barriers she had erected to protect herself from the hurt prevented her from expressing these wishes. So she shook her head, knowing her face and posture showed nothing and, deep down, she hated herself for it. And so his eyes showed sadness again. Frustration and resignation too. It was a face she made him wear often, not because she wanted to, but because she couldn't do anything.  
  
His face cleared, although the sad disappointment remained in the background of his eyes. "Okay. See you soon, then!" he exclaimed half-heartedly. He walked to the door and opened it, coming face-to-face with Cindy, who had raised her hand to knock. "Hey, Cinderella. Have fun tonight. I'll tell you about everything when I get back from the streets."  
  
"I already got the police reports but..thanks." said the redhead hesitantly, seing his troubled expression. He nodded and disappeared from the doorstep. Cammy listened to his fading footsteps, unable to know how she should feel.  
  
Cindy turned back to her. She didn't seem happy "All right. We meet our contact tomorrow, so tonight we can settle some things." she looked in the direction Jeremy had taken, then right back at her. "And believe me, some things have gone on long enough."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same moment...  
  
The first part of the compound had been built four hundred years ago by bandits who sought to hide what their bounty away from prying eyes. Unfortunately, a member of that band was a member of the Circle, and had found the place quite striking. Therefore, he had killed off the rest of the band and contacted others of his own kind. That had been the beginning of the Limerick lair. Four hundred years later, it had become a magnificient work of carpeted and panneled passageways, linking rooms of all sorts, from an high-tech power center and computer room to rustic, victorian-type rooms of luxury. It was in one of these old rooms that Kale lazed, reading Les Misérables of the great French author Victor Hugo.  
  
He could have chosen another book. After all, this was the library of the lair. Over two stories, with luxurious idian carpets, fine english chair and round duskwood tables, the place was one of comfort. And of rows upon rows of books. There probably was more books in the place than in many a national library, in fact. But the book Kale was reading had always captivated him. Such was his attention that he almost missed the lower Aclyte that approached him. Almost.  
  
"What is it?" he asked pleasantly, not taking his eyes off the book.  
  
"My lord, the SCD investigators have just arrived." was the dutiful answer.  
  
Now Kale's eyes left the book, settled on the acolyte with a gaze that managed to be both joyous and commanding at the same time. "Tell me about them."  
  
"Three of them, milord. One of them has the outlook of a fool, but there is steel underneath, so it is clear it is a facade. The other two show no facade. They carry themselves like warriors, and have a much colder outlook - especially the blond woman, who appears so cold she may as well be dead."  
  
"Powers?"  
  
"The first has no Outer Powers, while her Inner Powers are only slightly over the norm. The other two are different: no real Outer Powers, but extremely high Inner Powers."  
  
Kale still fixed the man. Upon hearing two of the investigators were strong, he smiled widely. "And their names."  
  
"According to sources, Cindy Herman, Jeremy Storm and Cammy White."  
  
Kale,s eyes widened for a moment, his mouth opening in shock. Then he threw back his head and laughed merrily. Cindy! Cindy was here! The damn bitch has come back to meddle in his affairs, heh? They'd see about that! He managed to contain his laughter and looked back at the apparently unflappable Acolyte. "Tell your men to watch out for this 'fool'. Believe me, she can be even worse than you think! As fot the others...fighters, you think?"  
  
The acolyte barely nodded. "It would appear so, milord."  
  
Another laugh. "Then arrange a little test for the first one to leave the motel. I want to know how strong they are!"  
  
"At once, milord." And just with that, the Acolyte left sdoundlessly, leaving Kale to laugh by himself, joyous at the fact that he now had something to occupy himself, and that he could do very deadly things indeed. Fools to think they never had known there was an informant. And laughed again.  
  
Things were about to get very, very interesting.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Twenty minutes later...  
  
Okay, she had the girl in front of her. Now all that remained was to find the right way to help her and that poor bloke Storm. Cindy considered while sipping her coffee, her attention on the glassy-eyed, braided woman who was now gracefully but still somewhat mechanically pouring some cream into her own cup of coffee.   
  
She had to frame her thoughts well for, unlike what her teammates thought, she knew her shortcomings in any true matters of counselling, no matter how well-meaning she was. Her last little talk had worsened Castillo and Simmons' already strained friendship considerably, a fact that she hadn't been able to forgive herself. So Cammy's case, such as it was, she intended to be turning point of her bad luck - this time she truly intended to help as best as she could, using the many mistakes she ahd made and what - she hoped - she had learned in all the previous mishaps.  
  
She stared at Cammy intensely, but the woman was seemingly completely unaffected by it at all. Not that she had seemed affected by ANYTHING ever since Cindy had first met her. Like people like Giorgio, Jeremy and Joan, however, she was convinced that Shadowlaw's conditioning hadn't destroyed Cammy's true personnality. It was her experiences that had somehow forced her to lock it away, even though she was free from Bison. But so far nothing had been able to crack her shell of unemotionality. Cindy intended to do her part to help in that respect.  
  
"So, what happened back there?" she asked.  
  
A level look was all she received for a moment. "What do you mean?"  
  
Cindy sighed. All right, she thought, I didn't think it was gonna be easy now, did I? "I mean in the room. Why did Jer look so down all of a sudden?" She thought she knew the answer to that, but still she had to ask.  
  
Cammy merely shook her head. "I can't say. He simply asked me if I wanted to come with him to seek and meet social workers and street fighters. I refused."  
  
"You refused? But why?" Cindy was genuinely surprised about the news. "Its not like you can't handle yourself in a fight, if it comes to that!" Far from it, in fact.  
  
"True, however, to seek such people is a waste of time and energy."  
  
The red-haired agent was baffled. A waste of time? She thought Jeremy's work was a waste of time? How could she not know that people like Jeremy, Steve and Giorgio, by making these sometimes rowdy contacts with the people of the street, often gained insight and information that the SCD probably wouldn't have gotten otherwise? The red-haired woman simply couldn't believe Cammy couldn't see that.  
  
Or was it not at least possible there was another reson to the blonde's disinterest? Then, how to know what it was?  
  
"Hum...do you always tell him that?" she asked at last. "That you think its useless, I mean?"  
  
"Of course. Most of the time." was the static reply.  
  
Cindy couldn't help but groan upon hearing that last sentence. That certainly could explain why Jeremy looked so depressed - having your own partner telling you that what you do is inconsequential would tend to depress and frustrate anyone. What a clueless girl that blonde was! Or was she? Egad, what an enigma! Cindy had to find clues as to how the younger agent in front of her really thought if she was going to help at anything.   
  
"You do know that you're hurting him by what you're doing, don't you?" she asked pointedly.  
  
There was no reaction. The blond woman's face still remained blank, uncaring. "I fail to see how my disagreeing with Storm's methods could influence him such.  
  
And it was then that Cindy finally lost patience She'd tried to beat around the bush, tried to be comprehensive and polite but it was clear it wasn't having any effect. She knew, deep down, that it was when she lost patience that she made her worst mistakes, but right then she absolutely didn't care anymore. Cammy's icy attitude was just getting on her nerves.  
  
"Dammit, White, can't you at least see that he likes you?!?" she spat recklessly.  
  
And even though it was only for a moment, there actually was a reaction then. The braided woman stiffened, her posture showing shock and... something else, something that flickered too quickly for the older woman to identify. Then the facade was back on.  
  
"He..likes me?" there was a slight catch in the voice that asked the question.  
  
"Yeah." Cindy answered, knowing full well she had no business getting into such private stuff but willing to play along with it. "We all have been seeing it for a while. But you're losing him. Its plain he's tired of waiting for you to at least showing him some kind of consideration. He isn't asking much, I think."  
  
"I was unaware that my disposition was provoking such displeasure."  
  
Cindy shook her head. "It doesn't really matter to the rest of us how you act. Its only Jer who's hurting."  
  
Cammy looked at the older agent blandly, with barely a hint of curiosity. "So, what would you propose?"  
  
Relieved that the conversation was turning out well - for once - the redhead considered carefully. "I'd either tell him I don't feel anything for him or I'd give something of myself to him. That way things'll be clear!" she had said it so triumphantly that she noticed Cammy's face only after she had finished speaking. When she did see it, she couldn't help but cringe inwardly.  
  
The blond girl had gone utterly white-faced, her eyes wide and staring at the table cloth as if someone had hit her in the stomach. It was so unlike her that all the older agent could do was to stare, mouth slightly agape.  
  
"G-give s-s-something of...? she stuttered, her voice cracking. She closed her eyes tightly, her fingers gripping the table in a terrified grip. "I...I can't. I CAN'T!!!" she screamed at last, drawing stares from just about everyone in and around the café, staring, whispering.She heaved herself up and, without even excusing herself, left. Hasty. Frightened.  
  
Cindy stared at her back, wanting to help her somehow, but thinking that she had done enough. No need for her to make things worse than they now were. She cursed herself. Jer would likely kill her when he found out about this latest fiasco. And she was sure the others from the SCD would lend a hand to do it, too. Worse, she had just somehow deeply hurt a still-fragile young woman, and there was no way to know how the distraught agent might react now.  
  
Thinking about all, this, she didn't feel hungry at all anymore.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Thirty minutes later...  
  
Jeremy was strolling one of Limerick's main street, dressed in the black t-shirt, khaki pants, sneakers and black fighting gloves he wore as his 'fighting' garb when patrolling the back streets of a city. Right now he wasn't doing so, occupied as he was in wolfing down three hot dogs with a solid appetite. He was trying to chase away the depressed thoughts that had been flitting through his mind since Cammy had - once again - rejected his offer of a stroll.  
  
Damn it why can't I get her out of my damn head?!? he thought furiously. He didn't really know the answer, only that, each time she told him 'no' when he proposed something, he felt a little colder inside. Why was her opnion so important, he couldn't tell either.  
  
Shaking his head furiously, Jeremy gobbled up the last hot-dog, threw the wrapping paper into the nearest trash can he saw, and entered the first back street he had ever set foot in Limerick, his mind confused and brooding. Such was his private mental whirl that he didn't notice he wasn't alone before he saw his way ahead was blocked. He stopped. Three men. Tall, athletic, graceful. No weapons, only fists. Fighters. He then felt that there were three more blocking the way behind him. They'd gotten far too close. Damn!  
  
He was losing his edge or what?  
  
He took on a more defensive stance, refusing to go into it fully yet. He knew, however, that these weren't friendly fighters who'd come to check out what they felt was a kindred spirit. These men had hostility written all over their bodies. One of the man in front of him strode forward a pace, not very different from the others except from the more practiced movements he showed. This one was the most skilled. So, logically, this was the leader.  
  
"Hiya, there." said the fighter. "So, a new though kid from who knows where. What's your name?"  
  
"Who knows? Maybe my name's Jack or Robert. Who cares about that?" Jeremy's voice became sterner. "Now get out of the way."  
  
The leader seemed to find it amusing, and he chuckled. "A funny guy. Too bad you won't be telling jokes too much after this."  
  
Now it was Jeremy who chuckled. "Don't you think you guys shouldn't be here? Street fighting isn't for losers like you six. Now get outta my way before I decide to kick your collective butts hard." He cracked his knuckles, adjusting his stance to full defensive, silently looking over his adversaries for gaps and potential holes, scanning to make sure he missed nothing. He smirked. "Bunch of whimpy puppets."  
  
Angry growls from the fighters. Even the leader seemed pissed by his comments. But that guy had self-control, Jer had to give him that. He was angry, but his voice barely told that.  
  
"That wasn't a bright thing to say when your outnumbered."   
  
"Shut the fuck up! I'm not talking to a bunch of wannabes, and certainly not to a monkey like you."  
  
The leader glared. "If that's the way you want things, you da-"  
  
"I SAID SHUT UP AND FIGHT!! Or are you scared?" Jeremy sneered.  
  
This time even the leader growled. "Kill him!" he said, and the five others rushed the lone fighter. Jeremy smiled as he saw this. Six against one. Close quarters. No backup. This would be one hell of a fight.  
  
He was going to make sure these six remembered him well after this day.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same time...  
  
From a meditation room, Kale looked at the image he had conjured. So the boy was the one who would be tested, he? Fine by him! Only six? Would that be enough for a real test? He hoped so. After all, there had to be a certain degree of challenge, or it wouldn't be worth his attention at all.  
  
He laughed at the confident jibes the lone fighter made. Not someone who was used to backing down, this one. Six fighters wouldn't make him do that, not at all. No, there'd have to be something more drastic. Kale would see him humbled. Yes, it would be hard.  
  
But SOOOOOO fun! He laughed heartilly, almost losing his vision, tears streaming from his eyes. He looked at the fighter.  
  
"So, SCD! Show me your power, your strength, your pride. I will no those so that I may break them. And let the games begin again!"  
  
And he laughed again, his manic tone echoing throught the hall ways of the Limerick Lair.   
  
_________________________________________________________________  
  
A new chapter up! As you may see, I've introduced a new kind of villains, which you'll learn a lot about in the rest of the story. I hope you like what I decided! :)  
  
Next: Things become more complicated for the investigators as the Circle makes a move to eliminate them before they start digging. Be ready for Chapter 11 of Will and Fate!  
  
As always, I crave IDEAS and FEEDBACK! :)  
  
Jeremy 


	13. Chapter 11

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 11  
  
August 14, 1997  
  
He had been planning on fighting. In fact, he had been eager to taste the combat flavour of Limerick, to know the tricks that were standard in these streets, as well as the tricks that were enticingly local. He was being served right now. He was about to gain that knowledge. He simply didn't think it would come so fast - or in so deadly a manner.  
  
The five goons were advancing, each assuming a solid offensive stance. Can't pick up their style, he thought, its just a mix of things they learned. The three at my back are pretty undisciplined, the weakest of the lot. He tightened his defense, preparing himself for the assault. None of them, by themselves, would be a danger, but together - the one behind me. Change in his feel. He'll start it and trigger the others.  
  
A moment later he heard a cry behind him, and a soft shuffling of feet. He felt the kick coming at his head as well as if he had been looking - and ducked at the last moment. The guy went over him, strtled, unbalanced. Jeremy crouched and swiped the feet from another adversary, threw an upopercut at another, using his spring to give as much strength in his shot as possible. The first man regained his feet within a few moments, but the other was sent flying by the strength of the punch.   
  
Silently, he started to draw in his chi, to feel it flow from deep within his spirit to his body...  
  
He knew he couldn't let himself be surrounded, or he'd be unable to maneuver. Only one grunt stood in his way, preventing him from exiting the backstreet. Quickly, he formulated a plan. He attacked the still-untseady grunt with a flurry of punches, jabs and vicious kicks, using tricks from Storm's Fang, Kyokushin and MI6 Training to his advantage, using a bit of chi to augment the strength and spped of his attacks.  
  
The grunt - not old, no more than twenty-five - was good. He probably could handle the average martial artist. But not a champion. And Jeremy was even stronger than a champion. His defense allowed him to block the shot to the face, but he wasn't quick enough to see it had been a feint, lacking any power. As he blocked, the SCD martial artist threw a succession of chi-augmented punches to the guy's stomach, reaching upward to his solar plexus. He coughed, choked out of breath, but couldn't help but clutch his stomach convulsively. Jermy threw a roundhouse kick at his head, and it knocked him into the wall. The thug was uncouncious before he hit the ground. Swiping his feet in a wide kick to keep the other three goons at bay, the young street fighter broke into a run towards the exit. He heard growls and shouts behind him, and feet pounding the concrete, giving chase.  
  
Just like he intended them to do.  
  
He knew they thought he was trying to escape. They were dead wrong. Without warning, using instincts honed during fourteen years of training under great masters like James and Mattew Storm, Giorgio Castillo and even Steve Hemmerson, the grey-eyed youth turned around and sprang in the air, bringing his knee in front of him.  
  
They hadn't expected that, weren't prepared for it. Barely two meters behind him, they barely had time to register the attack, never to slow down. Jeremy had aimed in the middle, and he collided squarely with the grunt right behing him. The momentum of both person transformed the precarious attack into a deadly one, as when Storm's knee met the thug's face, it didn't just hit it - it CRASHED on it. Jeremy distinctively both heard and felt the breaking of bone, and saw blood fountain from a mangled mass that had just seconds before been a nose. The poor schmock was hurled over ten feet backward, landed with a thud, and did not rise again.   
  
He landed himself, shaky but giddy with the way this fight was going. There assholes! That's three of you! Now for - His train of thoughts was interrupted when he felt pain blossom through his left side, making him gasp. A kick. From one of the other two guys. They had recovered from their surprise far quickly than he had thought it possible. A costly mistake, one he should never had made. His grandfather would be shaking his old head in disappointment at that.  
  
He tried to recover as best he could. Blocked another kick aimed for the side, but failed to stop the skull-cracking punch that the other guy sent. He saw stars for moment, and tasted blood in his mouth. He spat it, but before he could regain his fighting stance, one of the two grunts held his arms behind his backs, and the other started to lay into him in all his strength.  
  
Punches flew at his face, his chest, his stomach. He used his training and most of his chi to keep away most of the damage, but his strength was starting to diminish. In a rageful moment, he wished Cammy had come with him. Together they would have taken care of these five AND their leader without a problem. He squashed the thought as selfish, but it lingered at the back of his mind.  
  
Then the guy who held him made a mistake. He spoke.  
  
"Yeah, kick the crap outta him, Dell!" he said nastily.  
  
That gave him the exact position of his opponent's head and when 'Dell' came swinging at his face next, Jeremy twisted and ducked so that his captor received the blow head on. There was a cry of surprise, and the hold on Jeremy's arms slackened. He broke free easily, grabbed the stunned man behind him, and promptly thew him into 'Dell'. The guy only uttered a curse before receiving the man-sized projectile. Both thugs fell to the ground.  
  
The SCD Agent never let them get up. One firm kick to the side of the head of one, two powerful punch in the face of the other, and both were seeing birds in all shades of colours. Sighing in relief, the young man inspected himself. Some bruises. One or two scratches. Nothing broken. Good. He looked around, saw the leader of the group, who had by now lost his confident smirk and actually looked distressed when Jeremy gave him a cold, level look.  
  
For one moment the young Storm thought to leave it at that, but quickly forgot about it. This was a prepared trap. More than likely, someone was watching. If he didn't take down the WHOLE gang, it might be like showing weakness. And I can't have that now, he decided grimly. He walked towards the leader, his whole body aching and tired, but not letting it show in his manners, his face or his speech.   
  
"You know," he reflected, "If I were you I'd be turning around and running for my life. I'll let you, don't worry about that. You might well do it - after all, you never helped your pals out there." his tone turned cold and nasty. "If you stay and fight, you should know I'll be pretty hard on you. I'm tired, I'm hurt and, unfortunately for you, I am EXTREMELY unhappy."  
  
The leader looked uncertain, considering his options. But then pride crept into his expression, and his eyes flashed. He took up a fighting stance. Practiced. Tai-Kwan-Do. Brown or even black belt. This guy was a good strong notch over the other five. But he was several notches below most fighters the SCD had to offer. And Jeremy happened to be one of the best of those.  
  
"I won't turn my back on some damn kid who's gotten it lucky!" The leader spat viciously. Jeremy shrugged indifferently.  
  
"Your loss, you trash." he said, taking his own fighting stance - the relaxed mix of karate and judo, created by his grandfather long ago to prevent opponents from pinpointing the style. The young fighter gathered all of his chi this time, knowing, depite his confidence, that he had to give it everything he had before the exertions overtook him.  
  
The leader lunged at him, using an attack centered on powerful, long-ranged kicks - standard in Tai-Kwan-Do. Jeremy blocked them, wincing as his weakened arms barely handled the impacts. He knew he had to do something, and do it now. So using his chi, he jumped over the last kick. Far over it. Nearly twenty feet, in fact.  
  
And as he fell down towards his foe, he focused his chi on his feet, and let out a shout.  
  
"EAGLE STRIKE!"  
  
The leader attempted to block, only to have his arms crushed against his chest and himself flung backward. Jeremy landed two meters or so from him, and gathered all that remained of his chi into his hand, which was drawn into a claw in front of him. A white light formed around the hand, and the young agent grinned at his astonished and frightened foe.  
  
"Show's over, pal!" he said quietly. He trust his hand into position. His chi reached critical. And he released it.   
  
"FLARE TALON!!!"  
  
The poor guy never had a chance.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time...  
  
There were many things that could make Kale laugh. Most of them not nice, some of them disgusting, a few horrendous. But few things made him as happy as seeing a good fight. And that one had been the best he'd seen in quite a while. He actually clapped his hands at the image of the SCD agent, standing, shivering and aching, looking towards the leader of the foes he had just defeated.  
  
"And soundly, too." he chirped, as happy as he had felt when he had killed that puny little kid, a few days ago. "The reports were right, the man indeed has Inner Power, or 'chi'." If the other woman, that blonde, was within his strength level at least, these two could mean serious trouble. The Circle didn't usually like trouble. But then, Kale wasn't a usual member of the organization. Powerful, much more than Acolytes his age were supposed to be, he had risen to the level of Master when he was eighteen, and had become High Master of the Limerick Lair over a year before. And why? Because, unlike the decrepit, overcautious Elders, he happened to love risk and trouble.  
  
He grinned at the fatigued warrior, who was now making his slow way out of the backstreet.  
  
"You are strong, my friend." he told the image, which was fading as his concentration to maintain it dissipated. "Very strong. And stubborn. And very arrogant of that power." he laughed softly. "Such a shame I couldn't detect much darkness within you. You would've fitted right in here, in the Lair. Oh, well." He stood up, walked out of the meditation room. The game was over. Now, to go and get himself a glass of wine...  
  
"Lord Kale." A calm voice intoned. Kale nearly started at the voice. H eknew who that was. Only one person could hide his presence so well. He turned around and, sure enough, there stood Everick, all clothed in black, silent and grim, like death's herald.  
  
"Why, dear Master Everick, old buddy." he said pleasantly. "The evening finds you well, I trust. Not that you'd ever tell us if it didn't." With that he let out a laugh, enjoying the merriment in his voice more than the slight poun itself. It had no effect on the dark man. Everick did have feelings, but he preferred to show them when he wasn't 'on business'. Evidently, he was that right now. Kale sobered, althought a smile remained. "Okay, okay. What is it, my friend?"  
  
The tall, ominous man didn't budge. He only nodded. "I have some very interesting information regarding the two unknown SCD Agents. Very interesting things indeed." He flashed his friend a smile - a pretty rare occurence. "Want to know!"  
  
"As always when it comes to information from you, I am all ears." It was genuinely said. Everick never brought boring or useless information. Everything he said was useful, interesting or at least intriguing. "Come, let's go to my sanctum, savour a bit of spicy, red french wine and tell me all about it." The other man nodded, and they both strated to walk through the corridors. Those Acolytes who happened to be in the way as they walked, blanched and stepped aside, frightened of them - especially of the cheerful-looking Kale.  
  
They soon arrived at Kale's sanctum. It was a large room, furnished with comfortable chairs, an oak- made desk, a large, personal library, a radio - Kale liked listening to the news - and a small bar that had many types of drinks to offer. All in all, it seemed like a late nineteenth century high class room, the radio being the only item that really clashed with the impression. Both men entered, and as Everick closed the door, Kale made his way to the bar, where he looked at his collection of wines.  
  
"So, while I look, why don't you start off?"  
  
He heard Everick cough softly, then start off. "Let us say that the two members of the SCD, the two fighters, have been through their personal hells. Let us start by Storm. At age sixteen, the girl he had been in love with was simultaneously raped, beaten and ultimately murdered by Thomas Storm, a cousin that the agent had grown up with and considered a brother."  
  
"It was bad?"  
  
"Quite bloody, quite horrible."  
  
"Wish I could have held that Thomas's jacket while he did it. I would've liked to see that." Where was that that nineteen eighty? "So, he took it badly?"  
  
"One could say that. SCD's psychologist writes he probably went close to insanity, and even now he keeps the horror of the experience locked away deep within himself. She has a way of putting things melodramatically, but she gets her point across well in her 'private' journals." A snort of contempt, then silence.  
  
"Privacy no longer exists in this world." Kale noted almost sadly, then he brightened. "AHA! Found ya, you little red thingy. Holding the wine and two glasses triumphantly, he made his way back to his partner and friend. "Okay, that's nice to know. We can use that weakness against him, if it comes down to that. But I thought you said you had info on both of the fighters?" he asked, pouring some wine into a glass, then handing it out. Everick accepted it with a nod.  
  
"Indeed. And a most spectacular information it is. You see, I managed to learn that Cammy White was once one of Bison's drone fighters.  
  
The cheer went out of the High Master's face, replaced by astonishement. "Bison?" he spoke the name cautiously, fearfully. "She was controlled by HIS powers?"  
  
A nod. "She certainly was."  
  
"But...shouldn't she be dead or something? No one resists Bison's powers."  
  
"Not necessarily true. Some escaped his control. Ken Masters recently did, if the reports we heard are true."  
  
Kale waved the explanation away in annoyance. "That's not the same thing at all. Bison hadn't completed his mind control. That fact allowed Masters to break free, and nothing else." He sipped his wine, pensive. "Still, even if by some miracle she did escape, there should be some remaining taint, some weaknesses within her psyche." he smiled. "We'll try a little something. If it works, it might just make things even more entertaining. Have you gotten the mole that was going to talk to them?"  
  
"Of course." Everick deadpanned. "He was a fool to think he left us none the wiser."  
  
"Of course, of course." the High Master's smile widened. "Well, then, I have one or two ideas to scare our investigators. First, I want you to take the mole down to third level, and then..."  
  
The man kept talking, his voice rising with excitation and what an outsiders could only have attributed to madness. He rose sometimes, ranting about such detail, or such idea, until finally he had exposed his plan to the only member of the Circle he had ever called friend - and meant it. The tall and ominous Everick took the entire plan in stride, nodding at certain parts, making no comments until he had heard it all. It was only when all was said that he gave his personal opinion on the plan.  
  
"The plan you propose would indeed shake them quite a bit. However, I must point out that it is reckless, and there is a high degree of risks involved." he saw Kale's look and shrugged. "But of course, these facts never stopped you before."  
  
"What's life without risk? Besides, it'll be doubly worth it when we see their faces! They're going to be PRICELESS!!!" he laughed outloud, full of cruel mirth. "Get ready tonight, SCD fools! It going to be a dozy!"  
  
He was going to make sooo sure of that!  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One hour later...  
  
"Sometimes I wonder where the sense that supposedly characterizes your whole family goes when you fight!!!"  
  
"Owowow! This stuff stinks, damn it! Can't you go at it a little gentler?"  
  
"No. Now old still while I look at these bruises."  
  
Jeremy grumbled under his breath, cursing her and probably cursing just about everything in his spite, but Cindy had heard and seen worse in her life. The rants of a miffed not-quite-nineteen year old didn't make a bit of difference to her. What made a difference was the state in which the young fool had gotten himself.  
  
He had come, hesitating, shivering from exhaustion and scaring just about everyone in the motel's lobby to death. It had been a very nervous employee that had called her down, because of 'a grave problem'. And so here she was, in the motel's small infirmary, struggling to patch up a recalcitrant and reluctant fighter. So annoyed did she feel, she didn't even think about the puns she'd normally use to make the young man squirm in embarassement, but she did take a look at the unblemished part his upper body. Although lean, he was still more athletic than most, and had a graceful turn to his his body features. And there was no fat on these bones. Every thing was bunched up, hard-packed muscle, which explained the strength that belied the size and often surprised opponent. Jeremy said the strength came from his maternal side, while the grace and speed from his paternal side. A useful mix, all in all.   
  
Cammy could definitely do worse than this one, she thought suddenly, then immediately regretted it as fresh guilt suffused her. She hadn't seen Cammy since she'd opened her cursed mouth and babbled the comment she couldn't take. In fact, she hadn't dared to. With her luck, she might have made her crawl back into her shell. Even now, she wasn't sure that she hadn't done exactly that.  
  
Joan's gonna freak when she finds out...and as for Jer...  
  
As for Jer, she really didn't want to think about it much. So she focused on the bruises more, trying to forget her own fault. And, to alleviate stress, what better way to do it than by scolding the one whose reckless stroll had given him these very bruises she was looking at?  
  
"Nothing broken. You're bloody lucky. You might ahve cracked your ribs. In fact, if you'd been hit just a few more times, I think your left side would be busted right now!"  
  
"I know. Believe me, I know."  
  
"What possessed you to go looking for a fight with SIX guys?" she snapped. He glared at her, clearly annoyed, even angry.  
  
"I WASN'T looking for any FUCKING fight! Oh, maybe a little tussle, but nothing more. And I never got a CHOICE!! These six goons were waiting for me. I could feel I was a target as soon as I saw them. A DELIBERATE target." He put his shirt back on slowly, groaning a little. As he did so, Cindy frowned, pondering. Deliberate, huh?  
  
"There were hired thugs, you think?" she asked softly, caught up in her thoughts.  
  
"I think that's a big yes here." he replied, still stiff and grim. "These weren't people who fought to fight or to hurt - there's a fierceness to these guys. And the fact that they attacked me ALL at once - yeah, they're hired muscle alright. Cheap, untracable, good for gauging others from a distance."  
  
She nodded absently. "Yes, it does sound like...something he'd do..." she whispered.  
  
She didn't think she could be heard when she spoke so softly. However, it seems spending most of one's life owning chi and senses gives one excellent hearing. Jeremy turned a curious look at her. "Who's 'he'?" he asked simply. She went back to reality in a flash, embarassed at being caught like a raw recruit. Damn, had she lost her edge that much that she babbled outloud? Still, now that she was caught, she had to answer.  
  
"Well, I've tangled with the Circle once before, and there's one high-placed member of that organization who loved setting up fights and traps to gauge other but also to amuse himself. His name was..." she stopped, coughed "His name is Kale. And believe me, you don't want to meet him, especially not in the state you're in."  
  
"That bad." It wasn't a question. She knew why. She only spoke quietly when something bugged her a lot, and thus, her teammates listened well when she did.  
  
She nodded bleakly. "Worse than bad. A cheerful-looking man, always smiling. Only he laughs about things you never want to know, and deep down, he's one of the most twisted, perverted creatures that God put on Earth."  
  
There was silence afterwards, both agents absorbed in their own thoughts and musings. Cindy leaned on the wall and though about her last encounter with the man named Kale. She shivered. It hadn't been pleasant, and he managed to take part of her away. A small part, true, but an important one nonetheless. A choice, she thought, long-hodden anger threatening to surface, he robbed me of a choice. She didn't hear Jeremy get up, and cough, asking a question probably to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere.  
  
"...at the eating place?"  
  
"What?" she asked, confused. "Sorry, I...zoned out. W-what did you say?"  
  
"How did you guys do at the eating place?" he repeated calmly. "You know, Cammy and you going to eat?"  
  
Oh, darn, she thought, frantic. Knew this was gonna happen sooner or later but... She calmed down. Althought she had thought Jeremy would kill her, deep down she knew he'd never do that. He was probably just going to get a little angry, then calm down and patch the mess she'd made.  
  
Yeah, right. She was dreaming.  
  
"Ah, yes, the café. Well you see, it was rather strange. Cammy just bolted out of the place all of a sudden!" Great job at being cowardly, my dear, snickered her counscience. The young man in front of her didn't seem to buy it, either.  
  
"Bolt out? Cindy, I've been partnered with that girl for a few months and I've seen her jump, walk, crouch, kick and do all sorts of very mundane things. But she never 'bolted'. That would mean fear." He frowned. "And since she was at a café, I think the fear would come from someone who might, maybe, up to a point or assuredly be a person that is relatively you. Am I right?"  
  
Cindy sighed. Jeremy was sometimes reckless, but he certainly wasn't stupid. He was an old 'straight A' student and had the mind of a Sherlock Holmes wannabe if he felt like it. He was obviously feeling like playing violin and solving mysteries now. In short, this was trouble.  
  
"Well she did, so - ah forget it! I'm a poor liar anyway. Something did happen and before you even ask, YES, it's mostly my fault." She held up both her hands as he scowled. "Now hold on! I was trying to help her out! And for a while, I think I was getting through." she sighed. "I just said something she couldn't accept."  
  
Jeremy growled at this point, and she fell silent. Silence reigned again. Cold, angry silence. Then he spoke. Levelly. "Tell me what happened."  
  
She did so, recounting the entired conversation,. putting in as much details as she could. She told him about her annoyance at Cammy's seeming indifference, about the sadness she felt for him in that and had told Cammy about. She even told, embarassed, about telling the blond agent that he liked her, and of the reaction she had had. And, finally, she told about her reckless suggestion, and how Cammy had reacted very badly, bolting out of the place in fear. In fear of what? She couldn't say.  
  
All the while Jeremy had remained silent, never commenting. Only the widening of his eyes and the slight clench of his jaw showed his discomfort or his anger. At the end, however, he just sighed and shook his head slowly.  
  
"You've made a mess in the end, it seems. But no, I don't think its really your fault this time. I might have said just that eventually." he stopped. "No, frustration would probably made me say something worse. I'll go talk to her." he frowned, seemingly puzzled. "What do you think it meant for her, 'giving part of herself'?"  
  
"I wish I knew. However,its clear thats what made her go crazy. She barely reacted before I said that." she smiled. "But I think it means something to her, to know that you like her. I'm not Joan, but I really think its important to her."  
  
He nodded. "Maybe so." he went to the door. Cindy started following, when he turned to her again, a very small, very sad smile on his tired face. "But its not true." She had no time to react before he continued. "I don't like her, Cindy." He opened the door, glanced outside bleakly.  
  
"I love her." and with that calm, remarquable statement, the young man left.  
  
As for Cindy, it was a long time before her mouth closed. When it did, she still felt lost. These street fighters. How strange a bunch they are. Feelings wrapped up in cold pride the lot of them. She was glad she was just a 'normal' agent of SCD.  
  
But, more then ever, she wished them both to mend and understand each other. They so needed that.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
That evening...  
  
"So, ye almost got whipped, is that it?" asked Mark nastily.  
  
"I most certainly did NOT!" cried Jeremy, outraged. "They were amateurs, the whole lot of them. I got worse from single guys or girls - but THOSE were experienced fighter, not thugs."  
  
Mark snickered. Few things made the young guy angry quick, so contained was he. But putting any doubt on his fighting skills was one of these few, and so the Scotish man found his custumary phone to the investigating team more fun than usual.  
  
"Fine, fine, lad." he said placatingly. "I don't doubt ye. So, besides that, no problems, huh? That's fine. Seems things are all right for all teams so far. Nemmi and Micheal are out seeing some seedy spots in Argentina and found nothing, and I'm told Giorgio and Julia's team have encountered no problem preparing that strike against that Dis Khandu group in Egypt. A calm couple a days, lad."  
  
"I'm surprised Gio and our local little shade haven't killed each other by now. All things aside, can you patch me through to Joan? I need to talk to her."  
  
"No need for that, she's fiddling in the computer room with me." he raised his already high-pitched voice to a grating screech. "JOAN! PHONE! ITS JER!!" He saw Joan wince to his satisfaction, just as Jeremy cursed and grumbled from the phone. Sometimes he actually liked having a weird, high-pitched voice.  
  
Joan gave him a dirty look, than picked up the phone next to her own computer, while Mark hung up his end and turned back to analysing information from and for the various SCD teams. Still, he couldn't help but alleviate the boredom of the task by listening to Joan's half of the conversation.  
  
"Hello, Jer, how is the mission? ... That's great...yes...huh huh...a problem? Okay, What is it?" Mark's ears perked up upon hearing the word 'problem'. For a few minutes, silence reigned as Joan listened to their teammate's description. Then she gave a slight growl. "Dammit. I see, I know. Still, she should have minded her business. Hum? Yes, I suppose...but be careful. She may show a very tough exterior, but people like her are very fragile emotionally. I know. I know, I know, just don't push her too hard."  
  
Mark closed his ears to the rest of the conversation, which was nothing more than gossip and trivialities from then on. He sighed. From the words he had heard - he could tell who the 'she' which messed up was - and from the tone that his warning had gone unheeded, as usual. All of it wasn't surprising. In fact, it was mildly amusing when he wasn't involved.  
  
"Right. Hear from you soon." Joan hung up. And immediately exploded. "IDIOT!"  
  
"Who, me?" asked the dark-haired agent with mock hurt in his voice. "I'm hurt, lass. In all the years I've known ye, I thought that you liked me or at least..."  
  
"Oh, cut the melodrama! You know it was Cindy I was talking about." Joan snapped.  
  
"Of course its Cindy. Its always Cindy. So what did she do THIS time?"  
  
Joan told him, in very colorful and ungentle terms, what exactly the redhead agent had done. Mark listened with amusement, but also with more than a bit of despair. He had known that something like this was going to happen. Had told the well-meaning but socially clumsy girl that it would happen. And the result had been the same, anyway. When was that woman going to learn her 'help' was the worst thing that could happen to a person with personal problems? Never, he guessed.  
  
"So, she did her usual stunt. With the expected result." he sighed. "And what is Jer going to do about it?"  
  
Joan shrugged and hesitated. "Not much he can do, except try to clear things out with her."  
  
"Hmmm. Do you think it would work right now?" Mark inquired.  
  
"I don't know. Honestly, I don't know. I hope so."  
  
There was silence for a long while afterwards.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Ten minutes later...  
  
Someday you'll have to open up to someone Cammy. You can't live with this forever. Better to tell it to someone you trust and get it over with.  
  
Those were the words Joan told her during the last therapy session. Even now, the young woman recognized that it was sage advice given by a very level-headed person, and that she should heed it. But she never did. She never could open up to anyone, could never told what she remembered of her time in Shadowlaw.  
  
With Bison.  
  
But everytime she even thought about telling someone, the pain came, overflowing her mind, rendering it numb with fright and horror. She coulldn't bare to tell anyone that. They couldn't understand, what they did to her, was she was forced to do, what she was forced to feel - if allowed to feel anything at all. They couldn't know.  
  
You have to give a part of yourself.  
  
But which part of herself can she give to anyone, if she couldn't know what these parts truly were beyond indistinct shapes and locked-up feelings? How could she find it within herself to care and trust when all she felt inside were hurt, fear and humiliation? The few answers that drifted to her were all bleak and hopeless. But the worst was this unanswerable question: did she still want to care?  
  
The dash she had made had taken her to the small gymnasium of the hotel they were staying in. It was empty, which suited her fine. She didn't need anyone prying and asking whether or not she was alright. As if people needed to ask. Any dimwit could see she wasn't. But she refused to answer questions or to make contact with anyone yet. She couldn't tell how she'd react to it right now.  
  
Jeremy. He was special to her, very special. Had always been, from the first time they met. He was the one who, more than anyone else, had allowed her to make it that far. She couldn't believe he wanted something she wasn't prepared to give, especially when she couldn't tell what she really felt towards him, much less express it. Still, when Cindy had told her she might lose him, lose what she had, she had felt so...numb. So full of dread. Why was that? Why?  
  
"Whoa, you look troubled, lady. Anything wrong."  
  
Self-preservation instincts and years of training kicked through her confusion as the curious, pleasant voice rang out. She whirled around, towards the entrance, in a wary pose, ready to defend if need be. The man looking back at her, taken aback but still smiling, was of average build and height, with jeans, sneakers and a green shirt. His face - ordinary features with light brown hair - and demeanor seemed extremely pleasant. But, still, how had he ever gone inside the entrance like that without her noticing him? Only Julia Simmons was able to do that so well. Or was she so confused that her sixth sense was momentarily shot?  
  
The man held up his hands as if to ward a blow. "Hey, lady, don't get so worked up! Geez, sorry, I was just asking, okay?" his smile never faded even as he said so, and this gave Cammy a very eery feeling.  
  
That and the fact that the tone and pleasantness seemed so fake.  
  
"Don't sneak up on me. Ever." she said softly.  
  
"I wouldn't dream of it, lady. Who would want to get in the badside of one of Bison bitch dolls?" Was the pleasant reply. So pleasant was it, in fact, that it took her a moment to realize what this man had just said. She froze and stared, the 'eery feeling' increasing into dread mixed with stupefaction..  
  
"W-what did you say?" she asked, unable to keep a quaver from entering her voice. The man noticed, and his eyes acquired a cruel twinkle. He started to walk towards her, calm and composed.  
  
"Do you want to hear a nice little story?" he asked gleefully. He didn't wait for a reply. "Once, many decades ago, there was this group, which was founded much earlier by the way. It was a very special group, who had found an energy that wasn't based on willpower and human life - you would call that CHI but they called that power Inner Powers. What they had discovered was the energy to affect people in their minds and, if they were very powerful, in their bodies, or in illusions and strange conjurings. It wasn't based on the life of a human, but the energy that was formed from the planet in contact with a human. They called it Outer Powers. A person could have both energies, althought most people had neither and never really knew of their exsistence."  
  
He stopped for a moment, thinking. Cammy knew she had to act right then and there, but she was spellbound by the strange, fervent tone the man spoke with.  
  
"But there were two there who were different. Powerful in BOTH they actually were, a very rare occurence indeed. The weaker of the two, the woman, had no intention of following the secret, manipulative ways of the group and left to help people with her powers and knowledge. Those of the group that tried to prevent it, she dealt with efficiently, and was left alone. The man was something else. He had enormous chi in his body and his power - psy - was tremendously high. He learned to merge both, and became probably the strongest member of the group he was in. He, too, left, but not with the intention of helping people. He wanted to RULE them with fear and strength, and so he founded his own group." He smirked. "As time wore on, he decided to use his powers to control warriors that attracted his interest. He would have them captured, then broke their will and seeded them with his powers, rendering them nothing more than walking dolls that did his bidding. They would do anything he asked without any complaint. And that suited him just fine."  
  
Cammy was starting to shiver. She knew what this strange man was recounting now. Once again, the memories threatened to flood her. Images of herself, bound, helpless. Faces that came and went, leaving pain in their wake. The image of a huge, muscular man in a scarlet unform, looking down at her in contempt and, firighteningly, a bit of lust, his eyes glowing with power. Images of this same man, taking advantage of her helplessness, until she felt she wanted to die and forget. She fought down those memories, hugging herself, her mind reeling. She almost forgot that the man in front of her was an enemy entirely.  
  
"Touched a nerve? Well, it should. After all, the man created three female dolls to do what he wanted." his smirk twisted even more. "ANYTHING he wanted. But one of the three, by some miracle, escaped that control, and joined forces with people that were dedicated in destroying her former master and people like him." he sighed, stepping nearer. "A nice story, very... refreshing. But there is a question that I've been burning to ask. No, two."  
  
He was barely a meter from her now, his smirk in place his eyes now blazing with cruel amusement. It seemed as if he was certain she couldn't hurt him, even at this distance. She gritted her teeth, as anger and indignation - feelings that she never had felt so well in a long time, started to replace her confusion and her fear. How dare he come so close, spouting such terible things and looking so GODDAMN SMUG ABOUT IT!!! IF HE WANTED A FUCKING FIGHT, HE WAS GONNA HAVE ONE!!!  
  
The man stopped, undaunted by the fury that was growing in her eyes and spoke. "Tell me, Cammy White. How does it feel to be a doll? And how did it feel to be screwed by Bison?" And he chuckled, cruelly, maniacally.  
  
And something snapped within Cammy then. For months she'd been fighting, plagued with nightmares she'd never been able to tell anyone, memories of events that had scarred her very soul, her very being. And this - this BASTARD - just swaggers into the place and demeans her in the most brutal way imaginable, forcing her to relive these nightmares and then treating it all as a JOKE!!! The furious snarl that erupted surprised her in its sheer ferocity, as she swiftly bacxked her clenched fist and prepared to punch the asshole with all the strength she could muster.  
  
Just as she was about to let go, however, pain erupted in her fist, pain so intense that she saw stars for a moment. She gasped and clutched it, involuntarily dropping her guard. She saw the kick that was coming at her, however, and blocked it with her other hand. She swiftly brought her feet up for a retaliating kick. Immediately the pain came, intense, from her legs. She went down to one knee, puzzled and frightened by her body's atrocious behaviour. The man yet seemed unfazed.  
  
"Terrible, ain't it?" Not being able to control your own actions?" he said, with amusement and yet some relief.  
  
Her eyes widened. "You...?" she couldn't frame the question. He seemed to know it anyway, even to be waiting for it. He crouched near her, now completely confident.  
  
"Oh, no, lady, its not me." he smiled that cruel smile again. "Well, not really. You can thank Bison for that little inconvenience, too."  
  
She could only stare, horrified and speechless.  
  
"Bison had you under his COMPLETE control for YEARS! He seeded you with his Outer Powers to do that. Now you've broken throught that control - it still staggers me that you did - but bits and parts of that power still remain to be utilized by someone from my spheres of power." he shrugged. "Oh, I can't make you do what I want, but I can PREVENT you from doing things that would cause me harm - like kicks and punches." With snake-like speed he reached out and grasped her chin. "In the end, you're nothing more than a doll to me. Useless and powerless."  
  
She let out a yell at him touching her, shrugging his hand, lashing out with her other hand. The pain came, but she fought it down, using her new-found rage to keep the punch going. The pain became almost unbearable and she nearly blacked out, but she did manage to score a hit.  
  
He hadn't been expecting it. Her vision fazed out by pain momentarily, she still heard him cry out in pain. It hadn't been a very successful hit - to her, it was in fact a lame one - but at least it had actually HURT the crazy, cruel bastard. She felt some twisted elation for a moment. The moment died quickly, however, as the gasps of pain changed into twisted, exultant laughter that echoed through the gymnasium. He laughed so hard and so lightly that it was a wonder that he had felt the blow at all. Or maybe it was the violence he had liked. Whatever it was, Cammy was certain of one thing: this guy was stir crazy. She shook her head, trying to regain her eyesights, which had dimmed from the pain. She vaguely saw him crounch anew, this time from a safe distance.  
  
"Gheheehee...heh...I...heh...must commend you for that herculean effort. Now I can understand how you were able to ultimately break Bison's control." he giggled like a child who had just gotten a new toy. "Oh, you and Storm definitely can provide me the amusement I've been needing for a while! Here's the free info to give you guys a fighting chance: tell that Jeremy that you and he better go visit his hometown right away for, in one week, something's gonna happen to a certain Mary Ann. You got that?"  
  
Her eyesight was rapidly returning, and she could see the man in detail now. He had a deep red mark covering his right cheek - the hit she scored - but he seemed oblivious to it as he still smiled his smug and cruel smile. She tensed, ready to spring on him. He couldn't help but see it. He tsked.  
  
"Ah ah ah!" he said gleefully "No point trying to get me again. It took you a lot to hit me that one time. I doubt you can do it again. But if you want to try, go ahead." When she didn't move, inwardly seething, he stood up. "Didn't think so. So, remember my message. I think its a fair warning, don't you?" He turned around and guffawed as he walked to the double door of the gym. Cammy gritted her teeth. How she wished she could shut that lunatic up! If only she could actually HIT him, she would give him a trashing he'd never forget.  
  
"Damn you, bastard. I'll never forget this." she growled, with tears of pain anf anger in her eyes. He stopped laughing then, turning around, his face suddenly icy. When he spoke, his voice was calm, yet it seemed all the more dangerous because of that.  
  
"I hope you don't, doll." he said evenly. "And if you want to pin a name on this face, remember that my name is Kale. And that you and Storm, you're just pawns to me right now."  
  
And he left, leaving Cammy to her humiliation and her emerging feelings.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Five minutes later...  
  
Jeremy had been looking for Cammy up and down for the past fifteen minutes, but so far had found no trace of the young woman. He was starting to get worried, it wasn't like her to leave without some good reason. But, still, the present situation wasn't usual. And what he felt wasn't usual.  
  
His declaration to Cindy had surprised him almost as much as it did her, althought he did not show it. Still, he wondered how much of it was true. He cared for her, liked her even, but did he really love her? This he couldn't readily answer. Could he love a woman who barely seemed to acknowledge his presence? He knew that he could never do so, no matter how the girl would look or behave.  
  
But there was something he felt from her, an impression which refused to let go of him. True, she never expressed it, but there were signs that she cared. The long looks she sometimes gave him when she thought he wasn't looking, the fact that she gave him a little more time to recover from a good blow at training than she would any of the others.  
  
He sighed. Why was he getting into this again? She seemed to want nothing more than this, but still...  
  
Then what he had thought before flared back into his mind. He smacked his head with his palm, disgusted and angry at himself. Training. The gym. He never looked in the gym! What a fool he could be sometimes. He stood up from his bed, where he had been contemplating, bidding his aches to be gone and starting for the door. He was just about to reach for the door when it opened with force. He had to backtrack in order to avoid it, and looked at the one who had flung it open. Unsurprisingly, it was the object of the last fifteen minutes of his life. Surprisingly, she had a look that was as far from emotionless as could be. He was so stunned by the sudden change he stopped all movement.  
  
She saw him immediately, and almost pounced at him. This simple rush scattered his wits, for this was a situation he had never TRULY thought would happen. He almost stepped back when she grasped his shoulders and shook him urgently.  
  
"Jer! Jer!" she called frantically. "We have to go to America, to your hometown!"  
  
That shook him out of his daze. "W-w-what? My hometown? Greenway? Err...sure. If you want it that badly, we can always drop in on my family during vacation. I'm up for a long one, so..."  
  
"Its not that. Its, that guy, he just...." she stopped, as if her emotions were overwhelming her. Knowing how she usually was, Jeremy thought they probably were. Not knowing what else to do, he disengaged her hands from his shoulders, and closed the door. He then turned to face her.   
  
"Okay, Cammy. What happened?"  
  
She seemed more herself now - the man cringed when he realized he was starting to consider an emotionless Cammy 'normal' - her face and demeanor more neutral. But there was a nervousness in her that he had never seen before. Something in him liked seeing ANYTHING from her, while another part started to freak out.  
  
"I received a message from the Circle. They told me...that you had to go back to America, to your hometown, or something would happen to someone called Mary Ann in one week."   
  
If someone had kicked all the air in his lungs, he never could have felt worse. Mary Ann? The joyous, bouncy little girl that never seemed to be sad or discouraged? The little kid that was his sister in all but blood? He suddenly found himself sitting on the floor, with Cammy looking at him with plain concern - another novelty from her. This time, however, he cared not for the changes as much. His head was but a mass of fear of confusion.  
  
But the Storms had never been ones to give in to such things, and he was no exception. Determination quickly replaced anything else, and he surged to his feet with renewed energy. He faced his partner squarely.  
  
"I'll call Mark and arrange things. Wanna come?" he thought he knew what the answer would be, and reached for his SCD cellphone.   
  
"Yes, I will."  
  
He stopped, once again taken aback. What a strange day this was turning out to be. She looked right back at him, her gaze firm yet uncertain.  
  
"Jer," she began. "A-am I...?" she stopped, coughed, her eyes showing despair and sadness. "D-do you think I'm j-just a doll?" her voice became more uncertain, broken. "Am I losing you?" she whispered.  
  
Jeremy now wished to be altogether elsewhere. Not because he was cowardly, or because he hated her weakness. But he didn't want to see her like this. He'd never been good at seeing people bare their souls, had never known what to say. Joan was good at saying the right things, and Claudia, Samantha and, to a point, Mattew had that knack as well. But none of them were there to help. This was to be his problem entirely. So he did the only thing he thought he could do, the only thing that seemed to work for him: he said what he thought.  
  
He clapped her shoulder reassuringly, startling her out of her depressive bout, and spoke gently. "The next time you think that I would answer 'yes' to either question, you and I are going to fight. You ARE NOT a doll, you ARE NOT losing me and I never want to hear things like that from you again. Got that?"  
  
She seemed to only nod at him, her face resetting itself into a neutral mien. But Jeremy thought he saw a ligh in her blue eyes that had never been there before. It gave him hope...for so many things.  
  
He had needed that hope.  
  
He grasped his cellphone and started to dial. "Okay, Cammy. Time for me to show you my folks, it seems!" he smiled, but his eyes held steel and worry over his little sister. "America, here we come!"  
  
_____________________________________________________________  
  
Here we are! I'm about to give some life back into the older part of Jeremy's life. Next time around, expect to see old characters come back, and some new ones to boot. Plus, another Street Fighter joins the game.  
  
I hope you liked reading this Chapter! See you in Chapter 12!  
  
As always, I crave FEEDBACK and IDEAS!  
  
Jeremy 


	14. Chapter 12

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 12  
  
August 16, 1997  
  
If there was one thing a fighter hated, it was waiting. If there was one thing a fighter feared, it was helplessness. And right at this moment Jeremy Storm was feeling both. Two hours ago Cammy and he had finally left the Limerick Airport, after a full day of repeatedly arguing their case with the SCD commanders. Mark had been very easy to convince, but Julia and Brisby had been reluctant to let go of two agents, even if their reasons WERE sound. There was no evidence, they said, that the Circle would make such a blatant move against a family that was well respected in Maine. Jeremy counter-attacked the argument by drily observing that the man who had ordered the attack did not care a damn about evidence and practicality when it suited him, something that Cindy and Cammy - the others were stunned by her support - had agreed with vehemently. Finally Giorgio, Mark and Joan had added their weight to the investigative team's point of view, and finally Julia and at last old Major Brisby, had relented, albeit reluctantly.  
  
They had wasted no time after that, packing, booking the first flight to Portland and saying hasty goodbyes to Cindy, who was going to arrange the meeting with the informant and then hightail it back to London. And now they were soaring high over the Atlantic Ocean, on the way back to old places, old friends and old memories. Pack the situation, the tension and the possibilities together, and you got a very nervous man. He fidgeted in his seat, yearning to run, to jump or to punch the hell out of a punchingbag - anything that might relieve his stress a little. But it was darn impossible thousands of feet in the air.  
  
A stewardess had the unfortunate fact of noticing this. "Are you alright, sir? Is there anything you need?"  
  
His head snapped around, his temper flaring from the wait, the fear, the anger and the frustration that he had amassed during the last few days findind an outlet.  
  
"If I ever have a damn problem, you'll be the first to know!" he snapped, glaring murder, "Now go back to being all nice and smiley to someone who CARES, and have the damn mercy to LEAVE ME ALONE!!!"  
  
The stewardess' eyes widened, and it was clear only the fact that she was was on duty prevented her to tell him just what she thought of his manners. She couldn't help but tense, however, and her demeanor became several degrees colder.  
  
"Such behaviour is not allowed here, sir." she stated, just a trifle angrily. Other passengers were looking over, from interested the farther they were, to uneasy the closer things got and mildly frightened of the whole thing when they were at hand.  
  
Jeremy was making a fool of myself, he knew it. But he wasn't in the mood to be reasonable. He opened his mouth, fully intending to tell the woman that if he wished to behave the way he was, it was his own damn business. But before he could get the statement out, a firm hand grasped his arm, startling him out of his angry funk. He turned to his friend and partner, his face a mix of surprise and rebuke.  
  
Cammy ignored him. In fact, if it wasn't for the added determination he saw in her eyes, she could have been back to the time when nothing and no one seem to be able to get an emotion out of her. She looked at the stewardess evenly, with a force that still surprised him, so new was it.  
  
"Please excuse my friend." she said firmly. "There was fatality in his family and we are on route to the funeral." she patted his arm almost fondly, drawing him into yet another maze of surprise - he was getting those a lot these days. However, the bluff had the intended effect. The woman in front of them lost much of her coolness, and the tension, which had been running high an instant before, suddenly dropped to near nothingness. Many people seated near him let out a secret - and sometimes not-so-secret - sigh of relief. Jeremy decided to dissipate the rest of the problem.  
  
"I'm...sorry." he said, both looking and feeling ashamed of himself. "I...its my sister."  
  
The stewardess nodded, calm again. "Its understandable then, sir. Just make sure this does not happen again, alright?" he nodded. She then went off to another part of the plane. Within a minute all was back to normal amongst the passengers. The incident was understood and therefore, largely forgotten. After a few minutes had passed, Jeremy leaned toward Cammy, whispering softly so that none but she could hear.  
  
"Thanks for that save, Cammy." he said in earnest "You really helped me save face out there."  
  
She only turned to him, looking at him with that mild concern again. This time he was ready to see it, however, and did not show surprise at that. "What is happening to you?" she whispered back "You're never this agitated. Is something bothering you?"  
  
Knowing that a few days ago she NEVER would have asked, it was his pleasure to be honest. He lay back and sighed, closing his eyes and choosing his words to explain.  
  
"Yeah, there's something bothering me. Lots of things." he no longer whispered but kept his voice low. "I'm going back to my hometown, which I left behind broken and grieving. I'm not sure what kind of reception I'll get. Especially my aunt." he stopped, coughed to clear the catch that was suddenly in his voice "She never truly forgave that I nearly killed my....Thomas. Even though everyone who saw Melissa's body didn't seem to mind..." he trailed off, looking nowhere in particular, reminiscing. "Joy awaits me there, but a lot of pain too. And what's worse, I come bearing rather BAD news."  
  
There was a moment of silence. "You speak as if you were some sort of...of curse."  
  
"Yes, well, got my old girlfriend killed, nearly killed my cousin, antagonized an aunt I who was a mother to me and now, because of me, my own sister in everything but blood find herself in danger." he smiled sadly, looking in his friend's eyes. "Kinda makes you feel like a loser, not."  
  
She suddenly turned colder, almost angry at him it seemed. "Well, you're not a loser, so just quit talking like you are." she fairly commanded. Jeremy blinked at her. He suddenly, for some twisted reason, found her eyes the most beautiful he had ever seen before. Said eyes had appealed to him even while they were lifeless, but now, with an actual light in them, they seemed like a world of difference...for the better.  
  
He smiled. "Thank you, I'll try." he assured her.  
  
She did not smile back. That was something she still didn't do. But she nodded firmly before turning her attention back in front of her. He shook his head. It was better than nothing. He was finding himself enjoying her emerging emotions so easily. He wished Cindy was here to chat too, somehow. The chatter might have numbed a bit of the tension he felt. But Cindy had sais, with sad eyes, that she couldn't follow them, that she had to arrange things. He silently wished her luck on that. Then his mind came back to his more immediate concern.  
  
The Circle was going to make a grab at his sister, huh? They thought the Storms were people you could just toss aside, huh? Well, the bastards were about to get a pretty nasty surprise. His family wasn't made of people you tossed aside. Those who tried were always sorry.  
  
But not as sorry as the Circle was going to be.  
  
"America, here I come." he whispered. It was time to come home.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
  
One hour later...  
  
Cindy was sitting in a chair, in her room, looking out her open window and calmly breathing the moist, breezy air that wafted in her room. Of the cheerful, sensual and undiplomatic girl that the SCD members openly growled at but - she knew - inwardly loved, there was little sign left. Her eyes were sad as she looked back at the sheet on her lap, where she had scrawled a few lines to people that wouldn't understand the situation, that hadn't been there ten years ago...  
  
Or was it ten lifetimes? It seemed to be that to her.  
  
She pondered her friends' reactions. Giorgio would probably be saddened, but would understand - he too, had his own dark secrets, the side that few truly knew about, which fewer still could comprehend. Julia would be angry at her for letting such weakness take her life, but then the young shade had never allowed weaknesses that she could see, making her seem always so detached, less human than she should. Mark, well, Mark had a thing for her, although he tried to hide it behind his work and his high-tech equipment. He would take it hard, harder thanthe others. For him, there was a little note, that only he could read. Brisby, well, he would probably be the only one who wasn't truly shocked. He was old, had known more about her first mission against the Circle than faint, vague rumors. It had been a surprise that he had acquiesced to her request. But it had been the reason she had joined the SCD, her option, the path he could not stop her from. He probable knew that. Joan would have much work helping the others. Micheal - well, he might miss her, or not. She never could read beyond his dark, hooded eyes. He too, it seemed, had a darkness he never shared. He might understand.   
  
And then there was Jeremy and Cammy. Those two, so young and so scarred by events in their lives, they would feel failure, anger and shame at being played for fools and not allowing this to happen. She doubted they would be calmed by what she told them in her letter of apology, her small, secret will. They would probably become a great threat to the Circle. She hoped they would.  
  
And, perhaps, this new pain would help them realize how much they truly loved each other, how they needed each other. As an afterthought, she left a little note for them as a post-scriptum.  
  
She had just finished writing it when the door opened softly. It could have been soundless, as soundless as the one who had opened it could be, but the person had no need to use his stealth. She didn't turn around, just looking out the window again, as the person approached her. She waited for him to speak first, as she knew he would feel the need to say something.  
  
When he spoke, she wasn't surprised by what he asked. "Why?"  
  
"It had to be done."  
  
A strong hand grasped her shoulder delicately, belying the great strength that it usually possessed. "You knew what would happen, if you ever came close to us again." the masculine voice displayed distress, something it wasn't accustomed to. "You knew that coming back would be your death! Why did you come back. Why didn't you leave with your comrades."  
  
She closed her eyes, knowing that the answer, the only one she could give, would never really be understood by this man. "Officially, I chose to stay to meet up with our informant."  
  
"That's folly! Your informant was dead before you arrived. Kale took care of him, only let the fool draw your team for his amusement and his experiments!" the voice fairly shook with anger. She didn't heed it. Finally the man sighed. "You knew, of course. You know us very well. So...what is the unofficial reason?"  
  
She turned her head around and up, and fixed black eyes that were trying mighty hard to be emotionless with her own calm, green one. She smiled at him. "Because, simply because, I love you and I wanted to see you again, Everick."  
  
The tall, black-garbed man seem to flinch at her declaration like it was a blow. He attempted to regain his control, but a quiver remained his voice when he spoke again.  
  
"That's even more nonsensical!" he half-growled, half-pleaded. "To come back because of me! I've changed in the last decade, Cindy! Your fate is death, and your declaration cannot - WILL not - sway me!" he took out a sharp, curved knife "You should have stayed in London."  
  
She did not show fear at the sight of the knife. She did not even feel any. She felt only acceptance. She stood up, and walked toward the one who she knew would shortly kill her, the paper she had written held in one hand. This seemed to agitate him even more, so much that some anguish became apparent on his hard-set face. In his hand, the knife, a deadly object in hands like his, seemed to be hesitating.  
  
"Cindy, don't...don't make this any harder than it has to be." his voice was no longer firm, but instead was now plainly pleading. Still she came to him, until she was almost pressing against him, looking up at the broad-shouldered, towering man of black. His arms were spread, and still he hesitated.  
  
"Don't worry, my love," she said softly. "This will liberate us both. Me, of a decade of emptiness; you, of something that has been on your conscience." With that, she reached up, put her slender hands behind the muscular neck and brought his face down to her. And she kissed him passionately. He seemed to become rigid at first, as if thunderstruck, then, with a choke, he put his arms around her and held her tightly, returning it fully.  
  
How long did the kiss last? Possibly a long time, althought it was over far too quickly for Cindy's taste. He held her close still, his embrace bruising and desperate. She didn't mind. It was the end of the road, and she knew it. But at least she knew she would die in the arms of a man she loved and who loved her back.  
  
"Stupid bitch." he said, his tone lacking strength. "I...I have t-t-to do this..." he trailed off.  
  
"I know." she remembered the sheet she was holding in her hand. "These papers. See that the SCD get it, alright? Its my last wish." She felt him nodding, and smiled, pressing her head against Everick's chest. "Do it."  
  
The large body trembled, but the arm that held the blade twisted backward, gauging a blow that would kill her instantly. There was hesitation in the poise, however, and she felt Everick's unsteady breath, his rapidly beating heart. The man who had killed so many, it seemed, had found a place where he did not want to kill at all. Finally, his head bent to her ear, and it was a broken voice that spoke softly.  
  
"I-I love you, my Cindy." he choked. And then the arm the was holding the knife jerked like a spring, towards her neck.  
  
Peace at last, she thought, Peace for the both of us.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
The Maine State Airport in Portland was a rather large one, used to a lot of special and common people arriving or going in throngs. There could be anyone. Farmers, teachers, doctors, priests both true and false, and all the kinds of occupations that could exist, in all the shapes and colours that the reckless and advanturous race known as humanity could genietically come up with. If the floors and walls could have, talked, it would have been with the voice of people who've seen everything, and who can't be surprised anymore.   
  
But they would have looked at one with interest today. One who walked the tiled floor with natural soundlessness, whisping by the walls, unnoticed. That is the way this person wanted it to be.  
  
Had people taken a good look, they would have seen at first nothing more than a a casually outfitted teenager of between fifteen and eighteen. A cute one too, her fine features would normally have made more than one of the young - and older - men around the place craning his neck to see better. Her hair was longer than most women wore it, but that did not mar her at all. And she was athletic, everyone could have seen that. But then they would have seen other things, details that would have made many want to leave the young woman alone.  
  
Was it the stance, which seemed to be feline in nature, and just as potentially dangerous when menaced? Was it the underlying tension beneath the calm, the slight but precise moves that showed perfect control? Or was it the glint that lay in the deep brown eyes of the asian? Who could tell? But it did mark her as a special person. Yes people would definitely had noticed the girl called Ibuki. That is, had she wanted to. She did not. And thus, few even glanced at her. Looking at her watch, she couldn't help but sigh.  
  
Three am back home, she thought gloomily, one in the afternoon here. Man I'm so tired I could fall asleep right now! Why am I here losing myself in America, anyways?!?  
  
But she knew why. Because her grandfather Geki had told her to. Not truly a request, it had more been asked in the tones of a favour. She still remembered how it had been, that time when the venerable and respected shinobi had told her what she had to do.  
  
  
  
"Granddaughter, you will go to America to meet a man named James Storm. You will have little difficulty in that, I can tell you where he lives. "He had almost smiled then "Even without the information, you would have no true problem, for he is revered in that country amongst those like us and those who fight in the streets."  
  
Sitting cross-legged in front of her grandfather, she had been unable to suppress her disbelief entirely. "But, grandfather, why must I seek this man? Is he a danger to our clan?" She said this in an hesitant tone. She hoped it wasn't an assassination. She didn't want to kill anyone, and yet she did not want to disobey her grandfather. However, the old ninja shook his head.  
  
"Rest assured, he is anything but an enemy. In fact, Ibuki, I wish to send you to help his own grandson, who, if the clan's sources tell true, may be on a path towards dire troubles."  
  
She was so surprised she spoke rashly then, forgetting herself. "But why should we help an american?" she demanded, realizing a split second too late that this wasn't the tone one should take with the revered Shinobi Master, even if said master was her grandfather. The old man, however, did not seem offended by her reaction. His face only became very solemn.  
  
"When I was barely older than you are, I was saved from certain death by James Storm. It was during the Second World War, when the Japanese and the Americans were fierce enemy. He had no good reason to help me and yet he did. That is a debt I can never truly repay. The very least I can do is help when I can, and I have never been able to before." his expression softened "I am not forcing you to do this, Ibuki, but I am asking you: will you do it? Will you go to America?"  
  
  
  
She had given the only answer that she could give. And here she was in a country she had always heard about but never seen. She found the atmosphere less authoritarian, more carefree, yet full of near-arrogant assurance.   
  
A hand clapped her shoulder. She did not start. The person, the man who had done the gesture, she had felt coming for a good while. She sniffed a faint trace of cheap alcohol from him, and a slight jerk in the way he had put his hand on her. A man who had drunk a bit too much then. A weak man, lacking a will of his own. She was disgusted, but kept her face cleared of any emotion. The man seemed to find this encouraging. He leaned down.  
  
"Hey, cutie. You all alone here? Want some company?" he said leerily.  
  
Ibuki just turned her head to face him, keeping her face still, and fixed his slightly unfocused eyes with her own Had anyone been paying attention to the scene, they would have felt the silent but palpable menace that came from the cold brown eyes, felt the tension and the hostility shift toward the non-too-sober man. The man blanched when it penetrated his weakened senses. Still he did not let go, seemingly unable to grasp the fact that this girl could be a danger to him.   
  
"Let. Go." she spoke firmly, the menace translating sharply into her voice. Now the man believed there was danger at last, but still looked incredulous. Ibuki couldn't belive how slow on the uptake this guy was.  
  
"I would really do what she asks you to, young man." said an old polite voice suddenly. "It really would be to your benefit." The added support did it. The foolish man huffed incoherently and left a little unsteadily, grumbling under his breath. Ibuki didn't even look to see him go, instead looking over at the man who had spoken, aman who, to her distress and annoyance, she actually hadn't felt coming.  
  
She saw an old, well-dressed man in front of her. Of average height and build, he gave the looks and the impression of greater musculature than his age let on. And vanced it was. No less than seventy, if she was any kind of judge. Yet, even thought the man was wrinled, his skin the leathery thinness of old age and his thinning hair snowwhite, he held himself straight and pround, unbent. His eyes, raven-black, stared at her with the benevolent intensity of a man who had seen a lot in his life, and to whom Ibuki was nothing more than a skilled child. It was a strange impression, both an humbling one and a gratigying one. Humbling because one felt small before the amassed wisdom and strength the man shown, and gratifying because the man looked at her with quiet respect and approval. Immediately, recalling what her grandfather had told her, she knew who this old man was.  
  
He looked at the jerk who was walking away for moment, the returned his gaze on her. It was a very strong gaze, equal to Geki's in its own way. She could see why her grandfather respected this man enough to wish to help him.  
  
"You certainly took care of this unpleasant fellow adequately, my dear. " he smiled a weathered and kind smile. His voice lacks that hesitancy many older people's voices had "I see that old foolish grandfather of yours taught his family well."  
  
She did not know how to take the word 'foolish' but since the rest of the sentence was a direct compliment, she took it as such. "Thank you, sir." she said, her english a bit halting for lack of use, though she knew the language nearly as perfectly as any American. "How did you know when and where to look for me in this place?" she gestured at all the people milling about.  
  
He smiled wider. "That's easy, young lady. Geki told me when, and as for finding you, I looked for the one which reminded me the most of him. And that was you." he looked around, frowned. "Now where is that young fellow?" he muttered. His face clear. "Ah! There he is!"  
  
She wondered who that he could be for a moment, but soon saw the one who was slowly making his way to them. It was slight man, dressed in black pants and a white shirt, leaning on a cane , his left leg pronouncely limping, making his going slower than it would be for a normal person. His face was the worst: his right side was covered with faint and plain scars which criss-crossed and gave half his face an unsettling look that was further contrasted by the thin but ruggedly handsome left side. He smiled as he came over.  
  
"Sorry about that sir." he told James Storm politely. "I was held up by the throng. Can't believe how many people can stroll about this place." he chuckled slightly, and looked to Ibuki. She immediately saw the light in his eyes, saw the will that carried this shattered body throught everything. She all at once felt great respect for this man. "Oh, hello! You're the person we're here to get then?"  
  
"She most certainly is. Nathan McIntyre, meet Ibuki. Ibuki, meet Nathan McIntyre."  
  
Nathan thrust his free hand forward. "Pleased to meet you, Ibuki." he said.  
  
Hesitating only an instant, she took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. "Likewise...Nathan." she replied. Nathan shook his head. "Please call me Nate, everyone my age call me Nate." he looked toward the aged man. "Ready to go sir. Let's go back and I'll drive us to the fun."  
  
"Such as it is."  
  
"YOU drive?" Ibuki asked, looking at Nathan's leg, unable to repress some doubt while fully knowing she had just made a terrible mistake. Both men looked at her, then at Nathan's leg. And both men's look changed. James simply frowned, and as spasm of disappointment crossed his face rapidly before disappearing as he sighed. But Nathan's look was far worse. He looked at her with bitter amusement, his eyes flashing in fury - some at herself, some directed inward. He smirked without humor.  
  
"Yeah. I drive." with that he turned on his heels and stalked away from her his step unsteady but holding great emotion. James just beckoned her to follow him before following the limping man with a firm stride. The young Shinobi fell in step beside him, seemingly unfettered by the gaffe she had just made. Inside, however, she was sheeting at herself.  
  
Oh, yes, SPLENDID remark, she thought cynically, Just go ahead and insult a guy who was just lightening the mood. Sometimes, it stinks for me to have mouth. I'm SOO good at putting my foot in it.  
  
She just had to hope this wasn't an omen. If it was, this trip was going to be disastrous.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two hours later...  
  
"The house is being watched." Jeremy stated as a matter-of-fact. Beside him, Cammy nodded in agreement. Behind them both the reaction was less static.  
  
"What?!? Since when?" was the startled boom that came from behind them.  
  
"Oh, at least since the day before we arrived." said her partner, glancing backward and upward.  
  
There was a grumble and then silence. She knew that Alex Hammerstrong was thinking this over. Jeremy's mountainous friend maybe be imposing physically, but he didn't follow the categorisation that said "the biggest are the stupidest". He was a very bright man who caught on things quickly. Cammy was secretely glad to have him, and had grown to respect the family and friends her partner had in and around his hometown.  
  
They were heading for that family's home now, she, Jeremy and Alex having volunteered to do the grocery shopping. The walk had been good for both of them, for their arrival had been taken with...mixed feelings. She thought again about the people she had met, reminiscing.  
  
There had been the family first. Mattew Storm, a salt-and-pepper haired, black-eyed man of mid-forties, was the first they'd met. Vibrant, energetic, he seemed a slightly taller and older version of Jeremy, as if he really was his father instead of his uncle. His greeting had been restrained but warm, and she had later learned that he was always restrained, the only time Jeremy had seen the man lose all restraint was the day the baby of the family had been born.  
  
The baby of the family...Cammy smiled inwardly at the memory. They had met her next, a happy, bouncy little girl of red brown curls and flashing blue eyes that stared at people with nothing but gentleness and appreciation. She had litterally flown into her 'brother's' arms gleefully, whooping, and the athletic young man had laughed as he had hugged the little child. Mary Ann. The one they had to protect. It took only that moment, seeing the innocence and the natural gentleness in the little girl's face, why the only man she could inwardly claim she trusted wanted so much to protect her. She was more than worth it. In fact the little one had seem to immediately connect to her, and had pestered her with innumerable questions since she had arrived.  
  
Samantha Storm was the opposite of the first two. Were there had been warmth in Mattew's greetings, and unbridled joy in Mary Ann, her greeting had been cold and distant. She had barely spoken to them the entire time, and the only time she had shown anything else toward the man she had raised was when they had explained why they were here. She had accused Jeremy of bringing nothing but hurt to the family, to which Jeremy had scathingly replied it wasn't him who had killed a dozen people over the years. Things would certainly have escalated into a shouting match had James Storm, the head of the family and Jeremy's grand-father, hadn't sharply brought things back under control. It seemed Samantha still hadn't forgiven what had created the rift between she and her nephew. As for the grandfather, she knew little about him, except he seemed like a wise, well-mannered old man who retained the outlook of the fighter he had been long ago. It was, all in all, a spectacular family, each member possessing a great spirit and an unbreakable will.  
  
The friends Jeremy had joyfully presented to her were no less impressive. There had been Nathan first. She had been surprised at first that a crippled man would be the friend of street fighters, but had amended her opinion when she had felt the strength that carried the scarred, shattered body forward everyday of its painful life. She then knew why his more physically imposing friends held him in high regards. Next had been Claudia, a blond, inquisitive young woman who was so beautiful that Cammy had felt a surprising and unusual spasm of jealousy. She would never be that beautiful, she knew. And until then, she didn't think she cared. But the good-willed personality of the girl had offset that unease quickly.  
  
And then there had been Alex. Huge, heavily muscled, blond-haired Alex, who seemed to spend a third of his time training himself, another third mooning over Claudia and third - and, to Jeremy, the most annoying - joking and teasing. A fighter as well, with a bright spirit.  
  
She envied her partner for having had people like these with him so long. She never did.  
  
They were within sight of the house when she made her declaration.  
  
"They're coming tonight." she said as neutrally as she could.  
  
"I agree." stated Jeremy solemnly. That did it. She could feel Alex's impatience with them both long before he spoke.  
  
"Okay, now this is becoming more than its share of ridiculous!" he growled. "How do you guys know that. Can't be military training. You're not ninjas or anything!"  
  
The brown-haired SCD smiled widely as he stopped in just next to the front door of the two-storied house. "No Al, that we're not. But the MI6 is very good in training people in detecting stealthty people. And the people watching the house are aren't that professional."  
  
"If the shifts are what I think they are, we're talking about over twenty people ready to come at us tonight - and I know its tonight." she said.  
  
Alex looked at them both, stunned. "Twenty goons...that,s a lot of money."  
  
"The guy that hired them has money to spare." stated the smaller man darkly. "That means that during the day we find a way to get Claudia to pick up Samantha and especially Mary Ann. We don't want those three in any kind of danger."  
  
The huge man nodded vigorously. "Got ya there."  
  
Nodding back, Jeremy opened the door and then dumped his bags on the floor. He leveled his gaze at Cammy. "Drop yours too. We need to talk." She blinked at the grim seriousness in his voice for a second, then proceeded to do just that, her head ringing with curiosity. The huge man coughed, rapidly excusing himself and assuring he'd get their things to the kitchen. He then disappeared as if someone was drowning in that very room. Left alone, Jeremy pointed to a more secluded spot with his head, nearer the trees. She nodded and moved off with him to that spot.  
  
He went to the heart of the matter quickly, without preamble. "Mary Ann told me about last night."  
  
She sighed, knowing what lay ahead. His next sentence surprised her not one bit.  
  
"How long have you been having nightmares again?" and his tone was dead serious.  
  
It was inevitable that he would learn of the recurring nightmares. Ever since Cindy's rather unhelpful proclamation, her sleep had been nightmarish. Memories locked away, that she never wanted to contemplate again were surfacing again, manifesting themselves in her sleep. She never could really grasp everything that she saw and felt in those dreams, but she knew the nightmares were made up of the beatings and the abuse she had been subjected to when Shadowlaw had captured her, the pain of having her mind put behind a seemingly unbreakable wall and, worst then everything, the sights of herself doing exactly what Bison told her too, without a hint of complaint, whether it was killing someone or sleeping with the bastard or doing anything else that came to his tyrannical, twisted mind. She always woke up dazed, frightened, with a feeling of uncleaness that she couldn't totally shake  
  
She had thought that her nighmares didn't show that much outwardly, that no one really could tell that she was suffering in her sleep. That was until Mary Ann had shaken her awake, concerned. The little girl's room had been the place the Storm family had put her bed - she had no wish to sleep in the same room as Jeremy not because she feared him, but because of what his reactions to the nightmares would have been. But sleeping in the same room as a child - who had only a very vague concept of privacy - had been just as worse, it seems.  
  
She couldn't help but stating something defensively. "I told her that it was alright." she said, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. He didn't seem to care a wit right now, however.  
  
"You told her so and she told me what you told her." he shot back. "Did you think she wouldn't? I took care of her before I went away: I baby-sitted her, took her to the park, bought her candy. We always told each other everything. Its normal that she would tell me." he took a deep breath. "We're getting off-track. How long have you been having these nightmares and how long were you goin to wait before telling me or at least Joan?"  
  
"I can handle myself. I did survive Shadowlaw..."  
  
"With OUR help! Joan was very helpful with you, as was I, and Giorgio and Wolfman and others in the MI6 and SCD." he gave her a disappointed look. "I thought you trusted us."  
  
The last comment was harsh to her ears, but it had a ring to it that made her pause. DID she trust the SCD? She was suddenly quite uncertain of that. She liked them, she realized that, and she trusted them...to an extent. But she didn't think that she could confide herself to any of them, not even to him. Not now, not yet.  
  
"You can't judge me. You didn't...you didn't know how it was like." she said.  
  
He nodded gravely. "That's true. Then talk to someone who CAN! Julia told me of someone she knew, someone who knew Bison. She's a psychic, too..."  
  
"I know!" she cut off harshly, then lowered her tone. "But I can't trust that person, this Rose. She's the kind of person who did this to me."  
  
He frowned. "But she's not that KIND of person. You should see her. Trust me on this."  
  
"I can't." she said firmly. But,oh, I WANT to. But he never heard her unspoken words, never felt them, and thus stiffened in rejection. She could have wept for that.  
  
"Then you have a problem." he retorted, turning away and leaving her to her thoughs.  
  
She remained near the trees for a long moment afterwards, lost in her own musings.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same time...  
  
"And the cargo of weapons has been sent to the extremist faction in Sligo upon receiving the thirty million pounds as per your orders, milord."  
  
Kale sipped his liquor inside his meeting room, only half intent upon the day-to-day running of his little territory and all that went on inside it. He would much rather be doing something else: reading books, torturing some jock, kicking a dog, anything with some kind of fun in it. But even the Lords of the Circle had some work they could not escape. This litany was one of them.  
  
"Then there is the matter of Dublin, the last six terrorist attacks on civil propriety have been graded a marginal success. Ah, Elder Hirolk has sent a message to you."  
  
He raised his eyebrows. Elders rarely took the time to write messages. "Hirolk. What does that old fart want with me?" he demanded.  
  
The acolyte frowned upon the rude way a High Master had described an Elder, but knew better than to argue with Kale. A bright boy. Wouldn't go far but would definitely stay alive. "Well, the Elder tells that..."  
  
"...That you will leave this room at once." growled a voice.  
  
Kale started at the interruption, while the acolyte looked toward the door and quite blanched on the spot upon understanding what he was seeing. The Lord of Limerick swiveled his chair to face it idly, and couldn't help but recoil slightly at what he saw. In the doorway stood Everick, all in black as usual. He seemed exactly the same as he had been three days ago, except for his face. Where there had once been indifference, there now was controlled wrath. A wrath that gave even people like Kale second thoughts about crossing this man. The Acolyte seem well ready to faint here and now. No blame there. He would do it himself if his pride allowed it.  
  
But it wouldn't allow it. So he tossed the rest of his drink down and stood to meet his old friend. He gestured for the Acolyte to go, something he did with great relief, skidding around the motionless Everick and then barelling down the corridor at full speed. The two men stayed standing, staring at one another. For once, Kale did not find any fun in the situation, not one bit.  
  
Finally, after the silence had gone beyond uncomfortable, he coughed. "Well...haven't seen you for a while. Been busy? Is it done?"  
  
A slow nod. "It is."  
  
Kale sighed and reached for the decanter, intent of pouring himself a calming dose of Porto. "Good work, as usual. Now that this is settled, let me offer you something do drink s toast to Cindy Herman, the only person to ever escape ther Limerick Lair."  
  
"No."  
  
Kale stopped at the tone, unsurprised somehow but wary all the same. The tone was harsh, filled with menace. The tone of someone who had been pushed too far too fast, and who stood on the bring. It was a very dangerous tone and, to Kale, it seemed deadly, for never had he heard Everick speak such. He fixed his old friend with a stare that was meant to be indifferent, but remained nervous nevertheless.  
  
"I've been by my own for two days now, thinking. I know you wanted nothing of Storm's sister, I know the only reasons you did what you did was to kill Cindy and demoralize an enemy organization. I know your reasons, your official ones and your real ones. And I've got only one question now..."  
  
Before Kale could react, put up a shield, put up a spell or any kind of defense, Everick lunged to him, grabbed him by the throat and held him up by one arm. He helplessly dangled from the unbreakable grip the dark-clothed man had on him.  
  
"How could you order her death?" he hissed.  
  
"You accepted...the...plan...yourself." Kale gasped, knowing it was better not to struggle right now. Not the answer he should have given, for the pressure incresed. He coughed.  
  
"I accepted, " Everick said through clenched teeth. "Because I knew the only person who would treat her with the dignity she deserved was I. And at that time, I thought I could do it easily what a fool I was."  
  
"Had-d...cough... had t-t-to be d-d-d-done..." was the weezy reply.  
  
"Damn you!" Everick cried, and he let go then, turning his back on Kale as the man fell down on his knees and retched. He made for the door without a backward glance. Only just before he left did he speak.  
  
"I am going to rest at my private chambers. Until I walk out of it I want no interruption. I will kill anyone who interrupts me during the next few days." With that ultimatum, he walked out.  
  
Kale lay on his knees for a long time, regaining his strength, when he did, he puahed himself upo with a groan, walking to the decanter unsteadily. Pensively, carefully, he opened it and poured himself another drink. He slowly lifted it up, but for a long time he only stayed like that, the words he had wanted to say.  
  
Then it came to him. He knew what toast to make.  
  
"To Cindy Herman, a very peculiar woman that few will really ever understand. To the woman who escaped death to return to find it again. And mostly, to the only woman..." he stopped, smiled slightly, but for once, without malice "to the only woman Everick will ever grieve for."  
  
And he drank.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
That evening...  
  
Seventeen guys attacked the house that evening. They came silently upon the the silent and dark place, certain that they had not been seen. And why not? After all, no one had acted in such a way that meant they had been discovered. No, these people were ready to fight in a few days only, not tonight.  
  
They did not know how wrong they were. The four people remaining inside the house had been waiting for them. Eagerly. No one was surprised when they heard some sound outside. They shut the lights out, decided on how to split, and engaged the throng. They were quite surprised when four people - three young and one older - attacked them with grim determination. But then who wouldn't have been?  
  
Mattew would have been.  
  
Seventeen against four were bad odds, but they weren't impossible to deal with. The retired Black Panther took on the tree nearest him, taking full advantage of the surprise their charge had induced. He rushed low, his elbow in front of him, and dodged the clumsy, startled swings of his attacker. His elbow went full force into the man's abdomen, a shot backed by pounds upon pounds of strength. The air went out of the man, and before the other two had gathered their wits and rushed him, he uppercuted the man from below, using the momentum to roll back ward and execute a backflip, timing his arrival so that his defense would cover any possible attack.  
  
Not bad for a retired old guy, he though a little cynically. He then pushed out such thought from his mind as the two goons decided it would be better to attack at once. A commendable strategy, but one which needed skill to accomplish. They did not have that skill. He could see it plainly. These were hired thugs with poor hand-to-hand abilities. Weaklings.  
  
The two men were as tall as he, and more muscled. That gave them confidence, the fools. Mattew had fought skilled midgets before, and knew now that size meant little compared to skill.  
  
He let them come close, preparing his defense, letting them think he thought them a danger. They were young. No more than eighteen. Children. Children who wanted to tyake away his little girl. That thought fueled him with energy. He attacked.  
  
He dodged a kick catching the leg and thrusting it back, making the fool lose his equilibrium. One down. He took a hit from that corner, but he partially deflected it with his forarm. Bidding the ringing gone, he pressed on, putting in three quick kicks to the ribs, one of which told enought for him to get in closer quarters. He then hit the man with his strongest punch, right in the face, without shame. The man cried out in pain as his nose erupted into a crimson fountain. He growled and swung at the older Storm, who expertly melted out of the way, grabbed the arm, pulled and pivoted and threw him across the lawn. Nearby houses were alight by then, neighbours certainly calling the police. Good. They won't be of any use, but good. As the goon tried to stand up, his eyes unfocused, Mattew kicked him right in the face. He crumpled and did not get up. He then felt lacerating pain throught his back., The other one! He had forgotten that one. He growled and lashed out with a combo of punches and kicks, not caring the amount of damage he made. The grunt tried to stand up to it, but his arms started to tremble soon, and he breathed heavily.  
  
Mattew found he was pretty much doing the same. He felt a bit shamed. I'm getting old huh? He then promptly kicked the man aside, did a backkick that caught in the ribs - oh, terrific sound bones cracking - and followed by no less than half a dozen punches at the very same ribs. By the time he was finished, the man was doubled over, gasping in pain, and Mattew finished him by a blow to his temple. Huffing and puffing, he then looked to see how the others were doing.   
  
"CANNON SPIKE!"  
  
He heard that in time to see one goon fly ten feet in the hair, before crashing to the ground motionless, with Cammy coming down more gracefully. That had be a special attac, no doubt. And a pretty good one. She had been fighting four opponents, but two were already down nearby and the little feat had taken care of a third. She was in no danger. Neither was Alex, who was gleefully trashing two men, another two groaning on the ground. His strength and the intelligence with which he used it made him a powerhouse.  
  
Jeremy was the one who seemed to have trouble. He fought not four men, but six. Three were down, but the men were numerous enough to surround him still, battering away at his defense. He was tiring, trhat was clear by the way he held himself. As Mattew watched, one man pressed the attack. The young fighter fought back easily, but failed to see that another was coming behind him, a large log in his hand, ready to strike.  
  
Mattew started to rush to his aid, warning him of the danger, when something happened. The man about to strike with the log stiffened, his hand going to his shoulder, in pain. He turned around to as if someone had hit him. That's when a shadowy form moved, in front of him. The man gave muffled cry, then was flung backward.  
  
"FLARE TALON!"  
  
The attack was shouted, but not by Jeremy, who was finishing his opponent with powerful combos of quick punches, hooks and uppercuts. The voice was much older than Jeremy. It was a voice Mattew had none ever since he was a toddler. The chi flowed toward the sole man of the trio who was still standing, overtaking him and pushing him nearly forty feet away with incredible, blazing force. There was the scent of scorched meat. The man did not rise again.   
  
Within moments, it was over for both Cammy and Alex as well. After asking them both if they were all right, he jogged to the spot where Jeremy was already in deep conversation with the two that had helped him.  
  
"....To help me?" he was exclaiming. "Well, that's sure nice of the Shinobi! There's something we were planning to do, Cammy and I, about Circle activity in Canada. You'd certainly be welcome!"  
  
"I thank you." said a young voice seriously. It was then Mattew saw, besides his own father, a young asian woman. Striking for her obvious young age, she had the outlook and the aura of a full-fledged warrior. He started as the pieces started to come together and he recognized something in the young woman's face.  
  
"Excuse me, father..." all three turned to him "But this young woman, she looks like..."  
  
"Indeed, son. This is Ibuki, Geki's grand-daughter. Ibuki, this is my son Mattew, Sensei of a dojo and in his youth a great warrior."  
  
Ibuki bowed. "It is an honour to meet you, sir." He surprised her, he supposed, when he bowed back.  
  
"No. It is even more of an honour to meet the descendant of Geki." he smiled. Slowly, she smiled back.  
  
"You fighters are weird." stated Nathan, limping out of the shadows, giving Ibuki a cold look. Sirens were heard in the distance. "Ah, the cavalry. For what its worth."  
  
It was then that a phone rang. Everyone stared about in confusion - they were standing in the middle of a grassy field, after all - when Jeremy gave an exclamation and fished inside the pockets of his pants. He soon got a small cellphone out. Alex tapped the grey-eyed man on the shoulder lightly. "Jer."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You had that all the time?"  
  
"Huh-huh."  
  
"Even when fighting?"  
  
Jeremy smiled. "Looks that way!"  
  
"How come you didn't lose it?"  
  
"Luck?" he ventured as he opened the phone. Alex raised his hands up in surrender and grunted, looking if any of the goons were getting up. None were. By the time they stirred, the police would be there. "Hello? Micheal? What are you...yeah, took care of them...we... Limerick? Yeah, we...." his voice caught, his grip on the phone tightening. "W-w-what? Cindy... she...she WHAT? Tell me what happened!" the last bit had a point of grief to it. Mattew's stomach clenched: this wasn't good news. His suspicions were confirmed as Jeremy's eyes closed and he gave a few shivers. "U-understood. Cammy? Yeah...Cammy!" he called, handing her the phone. The sirens were getting louder, nearer, but they all were looking at Jeremy now. He opened his eyes - red-rimmed, grieving eyes, and gave an equally grieving smile.  
  
"They never were after Mary Ann." he said softly "They wanted Cammy and I out of the way...to take out Cindy."  
  
"They succeeded?" asked Ibuki, keeping her own voice soft. He nodded sadly. James put a sympathetic hand on his grandson's shoulder.  
  
"I'm sorry, Jeremy."  
  
"Me too, grandpa. Me too." his gaze became even more sad. "But its nothing compared to the grief another is feeling right now."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time...  
  
He was being closely watched by his friends and colleagues, but Mark Culhen didn't care one iota. Sitting in his usual chair he kept looking at the small memo that Cindy had sent him, only to him. Giorgio Castillo looked towards his old friend, and found him aged, drained. Broken. He was clutching the note as if he could draw some explanation from it.  
  
But explanations never come after a tragedy. He had found that out when Vega had taken his brother and his brother's family out. Now Mark was finding that out for himself.  
  
Dio, what a cruel world you left us in.  
  
Beside him, Julia came up. The strain in their relationship had slackened upon receiving the terrible news of Cindy's death. Cindy. So goofy, yet, it seemed, so mysterious. He would miss her dearly. They all would. And Mark as well. Mark in particular.  
  
The scottish stood up slowly, almost painfully, and turned around. There was a bleak look to him. The spike, the joviality that had been his trademark, all gone it was. All that remained was a thin face with dark, empty eyes and slumped shoulders that showed that the will had left. He started walking towards the exit, only pausing next to Julia and Giorgio, not sparing them a look.  
  
"Never had the guts to tell her...anything." he said, voice void of feelings. "Now I never shall." He resumed his walk somberly.  
  
Julia took a step in his direction, most probably to offer some bit of comfort, but Giorgio caught her by the arm, firmly. She looked back at him, confused at his interruption and angry that he would impede her.  
  
"Let him grieve right now." he said "He's strong, nina. He'll come to us when he needs us. We'll be there when he does." he let go of her arm. Hesitating, she finally nodded, and both of them looked at the retreating back of their friend comrade, who was still clutching the note that the woman he had always loved secretely had given her.  
  
"Yes, for now, let him grieve."  
  
______________________________________________________________  
  
Chapter 12 is over! Hoped you guys liked it! I think that this fic really is in the angst category, huh? Well, next chapter, get ready, as Jeremy's little band takes on the Circle in Canada.  
  
I crave FEEDBACK and IDEAS, as always!  
  
See ya soon!  
  
Jeremy 


	15. Chapter 13

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 13  
  
August 28, 1997  
  
Montreal, Canada. A metropolis of one million inhabitants with three millions in the agglomeration. To Canadians it was one of the symbols of their country's culture, economic strength and industrial capabilities. But within this cosmopolitan, three centuries old city, there was decay and decadence, well-hidden behind its sparkling facade of prosperity. Although this place could proudly show international heights of social and economical refinements, it also sadly boasted international lows of the same.  
  
Sebastian Sharell was one of these well-known lows.  
  
But the man called Jann Wa Sann cared not one little bit about that. The only thing he knew was that, every three years since 1973, the man organized a tournament for his own amusement. The prize? One million american dollars and the non-obligatory possibilty to defeat the still-undefeated Sharell himself. Jann Wa Sann was there for both. And he was confident he could get both. After all, he was the most focused, most powerful Ju Jitsu black belt in eastern Canada and the northeastern States. In all the competitions he had been in no one had ever been close to his level. He had remained undefeated for a long time, and finally elation had gone away to bleak boredom. What was the point to being undefeated? Better to take chances to become even stronger. That was another reason he was here. Thus far, he still proved unsurprisingly undefeatable.  
  
And here he was in the quarter-finals, surrounded by a cheering crowd, resting beside the elavated plateau that was the fighting ring and waiting for the next match to begin. He hoped the next opponent would prove to be SOME challenge...  
  
"FOR OUR NEXT MATCH, LET ME PRESENT THE CONTENDERS!" shouted the announcer into his mike. "TO MY LEFT, TRICE JU JITSU CHAMPION, JANN WA SANN!!"  
  
He stepped onto the ring, his slender silouhette all grace and composure. Wa Sann wasn't a very tall man, or a very built one. In fact, he looked like a normal chinese man, only perhaps slightly more athletic-looking. In fact, had he not been wearing a gi, no one might have know he was a martial artist, a champion. It was deceiving look, that had caused many - especially in this competition, to underestimate him. He patiently waited for his opponnent to be called.  
  
"AND TO MY RIGHT, THE KYOKUSHIN KARATE CHAMPION, JEREMY STORM!"  
  
Wa Sann studied his opponent as he came up. Sligtly taller than the average, athletic, slightly lean, build, all worked out muscle, not a drop of fat. He was wearing white karate gi pant, but instead of the top he wore a simple black, sleeveless t-shirt that showed slender buty well-muscled arms and strong shoulder. He also wore black gloves that completely covered his hands and forearms. As he studied him, he found his opponent gauging him with steel-grey eyes. He almost licked his lips in anticipation. Yes, that young man - younger than he, no more than twenty - was a master of his art, a tried and tested fighter who had nothing to prove to anyone as far as skills were concerned. Yes, this one WOULD be a challenge.  
  
As the two strode to the center of the ring to listen to the VERY basic instructions this fight entailled, Wa Sann smiled. "I hope for us to have a good fight."  
  
"I hope so too, sir. But sadly for you, I will win - for I have no choice." was the calm, mild reply. As he returned to his place to wait for the signal to begin, the Ju Jitsu champion wondered what that meant. He saw the karate champion crouch to the edge of the ring and exchange a few words with an athletic-looking blond woman who wore her hair in long braids. Herserious eyes and the scar that didn't manage to mar her striking beauty also showed the signs of experience. She too, if he remembered correctly, was a participant. He shook the thought out of his head as the announcer shouted "READY!"  
  
Both men took immediate fighting stances. "FIGHT!"  
  
Wa Sann lunged immedieately, thrusting forward with a punch, blocked expertly by the younger man. He followed by a low punch to the ribs, comboed with a precise, quick kick aimed at his opponent's right leg. However, quick as they were, the karate expert saw them. He flung the rib attack away, sidestepping the kick while slapping the opposite shoulder. That had the final result of turning him completely around, and before he could recover, there was a sharp thrust from behind, and he lost his equilibrium, only finding it by rolling forward and coming back to his ready stance in a flash. The other man had barely moved at all, still retaining a calm stance.  
  
Wa Sann was stunned, and a little angry. Never before had his first attacks been shrugged off thus. His opinion of his opponent rose further and he had to fight down the urge to smile. At last, an opponent with which he actually would have to use his superior speed. He gauged his opponent again, this time lunging with cold calculus and incredible speed. In a flash he was upon him, his foot sweeping toward his head...  
  
...and missing! The man had dodged at the last moment, making his kick a completely useless one. However, he was not done, and swiped the feet from under his adversary. He fell backward to Wa Sann's satifaction. It was short-lived, however, as the man brought his feet upward and dealt a quick blow to his chin that made him step back. He felt it only a moment, but that was enough for his opponent to roll back to his feet, to a ready position, calm as ever. The crowd roared over the last display  
  
Now the Ju Jitsu master was annoyed. And awed. Who was this guy?!? What kind training had he followed, what kind of battles had he fought, to enable him this degree of tactical knowledge and precision?  
  
Then he heard the young, blond lady shout to the grey-eyed, brown-haired man. "Jer! Stop stalling the fight! We're on a tight schedule!!" The man looked mildly annoyed, but nodded. He then attacked for the first time since the beginning of the fight.  
  
He received the attacks full force, quick jabs, slashes, sweeps and kicks, following no pattern that he could see but forming a terrifying whole. He dodged and blocked as fast as he could, using a speed and technique he had honed for twenty years, and finding himself barely holding on. He was no longer angry. He was appalled.  
  
And then he opened his guard for a bare moment, exposing his abdomen for a split second. It told. His opponent had been waiting for the slip, and struck him with the knee, right in his stomach. The blow was such that for a moment he was pushed off his feet, landing badly. And it was in that single moment that he felt it. Something he had never thought before.  
  
I am going to lose.  
  
He scrambled to his feet, hampered by the sickening pain in his stomach, his breath cut off. He barely dodged the back-kick from the other, and fell when he received a follow-up kick in the chest. He fell to his knees. His energy was spent. His strength was gone. His opponent, not even winded. There was only one thing left to do.  
  
"I...I forfeit!" he croaked, but it was strong enough to be heard. The crowd cheered the victor, who waved to them once before turning to him. He extended a helping hand. Wa Sann shook his head.  
  
"I need no help." he lurched to his feet. "You are a powerful man." he stated.  
  
"That remains to be seen. But you're good, I could tell. It was a good match."  
  
"Yes." he coughed. "And now have found a reason to continue to improve my training!" he stated decisively.  
  
The younger man nodded. "I'm glad." with that he turned back to wave at the cheering throng, walking over the blond female fighter, who seemed annoyed about something. As he left, he heard the last comments pass between the two.  
  
"Took you long enough." said the woman. "Ibuki reported in just now."  
  
"Is she in?"  
  
A pause. "Yes, she is."  
  
He was never to understand these sentences, nor did he care. He had been defeated today, had found someone far greater than he. It was a very humbling experience to be sure. But he also felt that now, he could find a reason to train.  
  
For now he knew it wasnt in vain.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Five minutes later...  
  
Some say breaking into a building depends on skill and said building's level of security. In this case, an underground complex with the highest security, a good stealthy person might take an hour to get inside it, a master taking perhaps thirty to fourty minutes.  
  
Ibuki was inside within fifteen minutes.  
  
She was just inside the first basement floor, crouched in a dark corner. Her stealth was very precious to her now, especially since stealth might be the only way she might successfully fulfill the mission she had agreed to do for the SCD. It wasn't exactly the kind of place she'd want to spend her vacation in, and she really wanted to get out soon. And that meant using all of her Shinobi skills and all her wits to make sure she was one hundred percent efficient. This was no time for a blunder.  
  
"Okay, I'm inside." she barely whispered to the listening-speaking device lodged in her ear. AS softly as she had spoken, it picked her up. "Picking me up?"  
  
"Good work lass. Aye, I am." said a high-pitched male voice in her ear. "You are now in sub-basement one. Small, mostly a guard floor. Scanner picking up eight movement sources, two heading towards you. Be careful."  
  
She nodded, even though he couldn't see her movement. The warning had been unnecessary; she felt their presence from far off. Loud, sturdy feet that moved without an hint of grace. Hired muscle. Corrupted guards. Small fry to her. She heard the two men talk as they walked what could only be a cursory examination of the outer door that lead out of the complex. They didn't expect trouble. That was an added edge she was glad to have.  
  
The two men came around, wearing dark, guard-like uniforms. They were joking in the french language. She did not understand the language, but it was clear the the two were having a ride over what one of them was saying. She managed to look at them. She read little skill in their demeanor, their stance. And they were deeply absorbed in whatever they were doing, too much to notice an averagely stealthy person, let alone a Shinobi. Without hesitation, seizing her chance, she made her move. She took out one of her kunai, threw it expertly, and launched herself into the air, all in one motion.  
  
The two men looked at her as she made her move. One took the kunai directly inthe face before he could even realize she was there, and the other barely got around to opening his mouth before her feet conneected to his own face. Landing softly, she caught the two men before they landed and made a noise. She managed to drag them to a dark corner, where they would remain for at least two hours. More than enough time for her.  
  
"Okay, two of them out. Where are the other six?" she asked.  
  
"Four are in the large room to your left, of which you should be nearing the door. Two others in the backroom near the elevator."  
  
She saw the door, pressed herself to the wall, barely breathing, as silent as a cat. She heard noises from the room, grumbling and cheers and active discussion. She peeked quickly, taking in a snapshot look. Four men, sitting in front of a television, gesticulating towards it and payinmg much attention to it. She took another peek and recognized the sport. Football. She smirked slightly, taking in the tense atmosphere. These four guys weren't paying any kind of attention to her, completely focused as they were on the game. A game which could go on for hours still. There was no danger of being discovered there, she knew, and dismissed these four men from her list of problems.  
  
"Was that football?"  
  
"Yes." she answered.  
  
A mild chuckle. "Lucky you, lass. That's six down. Two to go."  
  
She was almost to the smaller room when she heard voices again. She stopped, tensed. Female voice. Cold, clinical. Guards as well, probably. They were talking in monosyllabs and came out of the room before she hid herself. They saw her at once. Instinct and Shinobi traning immediately took over as she ran to the two women. Ten feet to run. An instant. And they had frozen in surprise for that instant. She deftly kicked one of the women at the side of the head twice in quick succession, this time not bothering with the noise of the body falling down. The other woman recovered her wits during the attack, and opened her mouth to call out, reaching for the radio at her side.  
  
"HEY! I NEE-mph!" She started to shout, only to be cut off when Ibuki clamped her hand firmly over the guard's mouth. Before anything else happened, she gave a slashing jab to the guard's throat. The guard made a gagging noise before her eyes rolled backward and she lost counciousness. With an inaudible sigh of relief, Ibuki let her fall to the floor. That had been sloppy of her. She looked at the two women with a glare, before realizing the one she had taken out first was small. In fact, barely bigger than she.  
  
"Okay, that was a nice job, from what I heard. " the voice in her ear shrieked out calmly. "Now let's move on. Second floor's a preparation floor, so there'll be an helluva lot of people."  
  
"A lot, huh?" she questioned mildly, still staring at the female guard's prone form.   
  
"Aye. You having an idea?"  
  
Sha smiled slighlty. "Yes. A very simple yet effective one."  
  
Moments later, Ibuki, garbed in the slightly oversized grey guard uniform, was strollin inside the elevator. She didn't mind that the uniform looked all little big - she could work around the handicap to make herself nothing but a shadow with this outfit.  
  
"This is easier than I thought it would be." she mused aloud.  
  
"Now don't get cocky." the voice remonstrated sternly. "Its just beginning."  
  
The door closed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ten minutes later...  
  
"And she's clear inside now, laddies. Don't know where you got her for this mission, but she's perfect for the job! With her action and yours, we can get that bloody murderous asshole Kale a time he'll NEVER forget!!!"  
  
Jeremy and Cammy exchanged looks at the vehement tone Mark's voice had taken during the last sentence. He had quickly come back for duty, but the death of Cindy and the Circle's involvement. He had been itching to pay back that organization. Hard. Which is what they were doing right now.  
  
"Good." was all Cammy thought safe to answer back.  
  
"How are things on your end?"  
  
Jeremy went to reply. "Well, I'm..."  
  
"Jeremy's just beaten his opponent and he's a finalist. I'm in semi-finals and should begin my fight in just about...one or two minutes." Cammy replied, overriding him. "Then the most beat up of the two will forfeit this tournament so the other may fight refreshed against Sharell."  
  
"Did I hear 'forfeit the tournament'? from you two?" Mark asked sardonically. His voice went unfocussed for a moment. "Steve! Got some news for ya! Its incredible."  
  
The braided woman frowned. "Well, none of the opponents here are any match for us. And a fight between us would be...well...pointless, since we're roughly equal in fighting."  
  
"Good job. With Sharell out of the picture, the info in our hands, we'll be able to deal Kale's affairs in North America a crippling blow. We might actually weaken him enough to rightly wipe him off the face of Europe." Again the unnatural, near-sadistic tone. Yes, he had taken Cindy's death hard. Very. Just at that moment the semi-final fight was announced.  
  
"Gotta go. Talk to you later." she signed off.  
  
"Cammy..."  
  
"Tell me later." she commanded quickly. "I'm sure it can wait." She was too occupied to take notice of the disgruntled expression her partner wore for a moment. She stepped up to the fighting ring as she was called. Her opponent did the same. She studied him quickly.  
  
Herman Jones was his name. Over six feet tall, built like an ox, he had shown little speed and just about no technique. The only thing that saved him from being nothing more than a thug was the strength of his arms. His fists had knocked out more than one opponent in only one punch. That was why he truly deserved his nickname of The Ironhand. But that was all he was. The kind of guy who'd fall to any skilled fighter. It was a piece of cake to her. His endurance might make him last a minute or two, but she'd take her speed up against his strength anytime.   
  
As for the Ironhand, he seemed to think as little of her as she of him. As he surveyed her, he seemed to think "what is that fragile little thing doing here?" What a fool, judging people by appearances - a mistake that only amateurs made. It seemed Jer was the one who had been lucky - HIS opponent, although weaker, had seemed a man with a true fighting spirit. A guy worth fighting. Not this oversized grunt.  
  
"Gonna make ya suffer, darlin'" sneered the muscular man.  
  
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever." she answered neutrally. The tone of indifference told. She could tell by the dangerous narrowing of her opponent's eyes.  
  
They each took thee position and waited for the fight to begin.  
  
"READY!"  
  
"Cammy!" shouted her partner from the side. "You got him wrong. You can't judge him like you're doing. If you do.."  
  
"FIGHT!  
  
The Ironhand came forward in a rush, probably wishing to barrel her out of the ring. She sidestepped him as he came close, letting his own momentum nearly disqualify HIM from the fight. She kicked him in the side for good measure, keeping well away from his strong but slow arms as he tried to either catch her or hit her. She stepped back as he fully regained his balance, assuming a firm defensive stance. He glared daggers at her. No longer did he find her pitiful, he clearly wanted to fight all out now. It was more than fine by her.  
  
She let him charge again - a good tactic that let him misuse the sole advantage he had, which was strength. Her attacks would be harder to get in unless she fought with her more advanced techniques - and she wanted to save that as a surprise in the last fight. So all she had to do was tire him out. That meant to dodge. A lot.  
  
The second rush was made with more cold fury than before, but it was more cuatious. H estill adavanced fast, but he actually now tried to hit her with focussed punches. However, the whrestler friend of Jeremy, Alex, had showed her how people roughly his size fought, and although she'd have trouble with the blond giant, this guy was mediocre in comparison.  
  
She thus dodged out of the way of everything he threw at her, giving a well-placed punch here, a swift kick there. To outsiders it truly appeared to be a game to her, and the crowd soon started to react accordingly. They started to jeer the hammerhand as the tall man hit only air while his quick, slender opponent was making constant hits. It was making him mad with frustration and shame, as he desperately tried to find an occasion to fight back. An occasion that seemed to be well-nigh impossible right about now.  
  
But the occasion came. Not from a slip-up on Cammy's part, but from a coincidence. As he gave another useless punch, she leapt over him, to quick to be caught. However, as his other hand grasped about fore her overhead, it grabbed her left braid. She couldn't help but cry out as her scalp seemed to erupt on fire, and she both lost her focus and her balance in that moment. Her opponent saw he had the opportunity to get some payback, and did not hesitate to take it.  
  
Before she could bring herself back to a fighting stance, a feet lanced out, taking her by surprise, especially since the man had used nothing but his feet in the matches before. She had time to contract her abdominal muscles, but it still took her breath right out of her. She looked towards her opponent, trying to ignore the pain...  
  
...and her head seemed to explode in pain as the man's fist connected. She felt herself flung backward. For a moment, she couldn't see anything. All was pain. She was feeling him coming, now assured he could finish her off.  
  
"I'm gonna make you suffer, bitch doll."  
  
The last two words, bitch doll, made her mind reel. Those words had been spoken before. By another man. A much, MUCH more powerful man, who had taken his time in breaking her in both mind and body before locking her mind away inside herself.  
  
The damn monster...  
  
"You will eventually bow before me. You have no choice."  
  
He'd taken everything away...  
  
"Poor little bitch doll, bereft of strength."  
  
And he didn't even care he did...  
  
"I've just realized that it would be such a shame to let an athletic female body go to waste. Do you not think so, my doll?"  
  
...That bastard...  
  
"Resisting? By all means, resist! I like my women feisty, hehehe!"  
  
....SHE'LL KILL HIM!!!!!!  
  
The pain was gone, and with it anything that even reseembled ethics or fair-play. She dodged under his attack like a snake, not caring about him. He didn't exist. The ring didn't exist. The crowd didn't exist. Nothing existed. Except hatred. And a pain that tore at her soul.  
  
"CANNON DRILL!!!"  
  
She smashed into the man sending him backward, doubling from a blow that had been fueled by every bit of chi energy she had. His face twisted in pain and he obviously screamed. She didn't care. She couldn't She rolled under him, put her feet up...  
  
"CANNON SPIKE!!!"  
  
She went up and he with her, fifteen feet into the air, his muscular chest smashed by the undilluted fury of her attacks. She landed on her feet, and he landed heavily. Still shew saw him trying to get up. With a cry she let loose a kick to his head. And another. And another. Screaming each time, with all her hatred, all her pain. He wasn't moving anymore. And still she was compelled to hit him. How long this might gone on, she never could tell. Too long. But she was abruptly stopped by something hitting her on the side forcing her to break off her attacks. She turned in the direction of this new threat and saw another man, in a fighting stance, waiting for her. She charged him and lashed out with her fist.  
  
He caught it with one hand, and with the other, slapped her across the face.  
  
It hadn't been a strong slap. It had in fact been a very reluctant one. But the action broke throught the red haze the painful memories had created. Reason returned, and she found herself looking up at her frie-her partner, who was holding her other arm and looking at her with a mix of anger, sadness, and fear.  
  
"Jer...?" she asked, puzzled. She was cut off, and surprised at the mixed ire and concern in his voice.  
  
"Have you gone crazy?!? I don't care what you say, Joan and Julia are right, we're getting some help from Rose. You need it!" he pointed to the falen man. "Look what you almost did, for God's sake!!!"  
  
She looked. Her eyes widened. The man was laying very still, surrounded by people who appeared to be medics. He was bleeding in many places, and his limbs anbd torso looked ajar somewhat. She'd nearly killed him. Even now, it would be a miracle if he recovered completely. She looked at her hands, unable to speak. She had to force the next words out.  
  
"Take on Sharell. I shouldn't." she said, not feeling nearly as confident as she sounded.  
  
He let go of her arm. "I agree."  
  
She walked down the ring, throught the crowd - which fearfully parted for her - and went in search of the nearest bathroom or washroom around. She didn't care. As long as she could find one and lock herself inside.  
  
She could then weep over this without attracting anything but her self-contempt.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Twenty minutes later...  
  
Ibuki stealthily walked down the stairs the branched the third level and the fourth. The elevator only went down to the third, which meant getting through the third floor. Not a big problem - the guard clothes and a bit of well-placed Shinobi training had allowed her to pass through it with ease. It had been a storage room crates upon crates lined up, filled with what seemed to the naked eye to be packs of flour. But then things weren't what they seemed. She knew this better than most.  
  
"Drugs...all these?" she had said, unable to blot out the mixed awe and disgust.  
  
"Aye. Mari-juana, ash, cocain...take you pick, its there. There's enough coke around here to addict quite a few people. And it does. Which means Kale makes an hefty sum with this."  
  
"The people I saw working in the second level. Why..." she trailed off.  
  
"Why do they work, knowing this stuff is gonna hurt other people?" Mark had finished quietly. "That's because they're people who have nothing - the rejected, the downtrodden, people with no future and nothing to lose. Its ironic, you know. We fight for a system that allows the creation of the rejected,and it is from the despair of the rejected that people like Kale, Bison and even little bosses like Sharell grow powerful and wealthy from. Its a vicious circle, unending and uncaring." his voice had lost its focus then. "Even taking this place out won't hurt Kale. So the fight will go on. Against Shadowlaw, against the Circle, long after we're both gone. Order and Chaos will always battle on."  
  
That speech had stuck to her mind, possibly because of the bleak truth it contained. Shinobis were no stranger to that 'vicious circle'. They had profitted from that unending battle for hundreds of years, in fact. Her grandfather had once explained that a Shinobi, no matter if he preffered Order or Chaos, had to be impartial, stay in the middle to see all the possibilities. Ibuki had always preferred Order and those who fought for it. She knew that, one day, she would have to put her self on neutral grounds. She just hoped that day was far off.  
  
She came down the last step, and crouched by the closed door that led to the fourth level. "I'm there. So where is that computer room?"  
  
"Open the door and take left. You'll see a fork. Take left again and continue until you see a door labeled N-2. That's the place."  
  
"How do you know this?"  
  
"By little bits of information now-dead Circle turncoats and infiltrators leaked to us." was the grim reply."  
  
"I see."  
  
"I reckon you do. Move." That was clearly the end of the discussion.  
  
She did move then. She looked out the door, seeing no one, and slipped outside. She walked through the corridor, seeing the fork in front of her. And then she heard steps. From the right branch of the fork. She knew that there was no place to hide. A guard, she could handle, but it might bring others, or trigger an alarm or something. She just didn't know the terrain - the info SCD had about this level was sketchy at best.   
  
She thus did the only thing she could. She straightened out of her cautious, defensive stance, took on the casual air of someone used to the place, and trudged along, taking the left fork, crossing her fingers while fervently praying the guard wouldn't call to her.  
  
Someone was listening to her up there, it seemed, for the guards walked past her and toward the door without even glancing at her. Too preoccupied about something to care. She contained the sigh of relief she was feeling building up. Now was not the time to get too emotional. Now was time for control. She could sigh all she wanted too when the information was taken and she out of the place.  
  
She quickly found the door labeled N-2. Saw it was locked magnetically. One would need a pass to get inside, which she didn't have. Or at least a very nice, compact magnetic scrambler, high-tech and all, at the cutting edge of MI6 technology, which she just happened to have. She put the device on the lock, activated it and waited, scanning down the corridor. It didn't take long. Within exactly twenty-two secondsthe eevice flashed a green light, and she opened the door, taking the scrambler with her.  
  
The N-2 room was larger than it seemed. Maybe it had been used for storage at first, she didn't know. It was spacy. Only the back of the room was filled with computers, modems, scanners, printers and high-tech gew-haws.  
  
"In." she said.  
  
"Good!" said Mark almost gleefully. "Now take the Mosquito and attach it to the side of the nearest computer bank. I'll do the rest from my com."  
  
She took out the Mosquito - dubbed that because of its cutting edge abilty to use microwaves to hack into any system without leaving a trace. It was just another pice of technology that officially would not exist for a few years to come, and was closely guarded by the organisations that had them - and plugged it in as instructed.  
  
"All right, here we go!" squealed the scottish voice. "I hope you're watching this, Cindy! We're gonna hurt them bad!"  
  
She frowned. It wasn't the first time she had heard this man call out to the dead agent. From what she had gathered this man Mark had had quite a crush on her. That was certainly why the man seemed ready to take down the Circle. Romance, sometimes it was such a bore. She was about to ask him how long he would take, when the door slammed open. Two men entered.  
  
Well, two men they were, but it took her a moment to see that it was the case, and that there was nothing wrong with her vision. In dark, overall, black boot, short light-brown hair and pale blue eyes, unreadable expressions, small smile - exactly the same. These men looked like clones. It was worse than twins, in her opinion, for it seemed to her twins had some differences at least. Not them. Copies.  
  
"You have entered..." started one.  
  
"...forbidden zone. You are not..." continued the other.  
  
"...one of use. Therefore you must regretfully...."  
  
"...be eliminated." Immediately they took on fighting stance. Down to an inch, the same. Inwardly Ibuki shivered at such freakish behaviour. Outwardly, she raised a brow.  
  
"And who are you exactly supposed to be?" she asked mildly.  
  
They blinked. Exactly at the same time. Looked at each other and back. Exactly at the same time. What freaks! her mind hollered, you got to be deranged as hell to willingly be that perfect in synchronisation! She gritted her teeth, unheeding the mumbling of Mark, who was lost in hacking Sharell's files.  
  
"Why, we are Tim..." said one.  
  
"...and Jim, the Gauthier Twins." finished the other.  
  
Sme smiled, containing her nervousness at the behaviour she was witnessing. "Culhen?"  
  
"Aye?"  
  
"I'm taking this off. Something came up that needs my undivided attention."  
  
"Wait, what do you..." he started, cut off as she pulled the device of her ear and put it on a computer screen. She took on a fighting stance in front of the clony - was that even a word? - twins. And she smiled. Slightly. Dangerously. In a way that would have made most men run for cover. The Twins didn't.  
  
"Your move." she called, and readied herself for battle.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ten minutes later...  
  
Jeremy was in a foul mood. What had just happened with Cammy off and on the fighting ring - but especially on it - had darkened his temper considerably, and he had spent the time waiting for Sharell in growing agitation and annoyance. It wasn't like him, he knew, to get distracted before a fight, but he couldn't help it. What he'd seen her do, the way she had teared up that slow hulk, the rage she had shown, it made him worry.  
  
He groaned. Here he went again. Worry. All he had done since he had met her was worry. And what's worse, she was starting to deliberately ignore him when he tried to voice them and tended to boss him around. The last week had been particularly vehement, and more than once he had had to hold up scathing retorts. All because Joan had said this seemed to be her true personality reasserting itself. He found that personality to be very unnerving, but had agreed to let her vent on him for a while. But there were limits to what a guy could take. He felt himself nearing those limits.  
  
Anyway, one thing was certain, they had to see Rose. Maybe she could help out. Julia vouched for her and Joan supported. He'd arrange something as soon as this was done. An appointment or whatever. And Cammy would come to it whether she liked it or not. Today, he had had to hit her. Just a little slap. It hadn't hurt her. But it sure as hell had hurt him. He didn't want to do it again.  
  
"Mister Storm?" asked someone gently. A referee, maybe.  
  
"What?" he answered. Angrily. Harshly. Annoyed at having his thoughts interrupted. He needed to calm down, or he'd be repeating Cammy's last performance by default.  
  
The man packpedalled as he stared - probably none-too-gently - into his eyes with dark focus. There was fear there. Jeremy couldn't blame him. With a sigh, he put himself back under control.  
  
"He's ready?" he asked, he received a nod. "About time. Lets get this charade over with." he muttered, and followed the man back to the main room, where the crowd roared in expectation of the next fight. What a bunch of vultures. He waited for the introductions. He was introduced first, and stepped up with a determined air to thunderous applause. Not that he cared - this was SCD business from here on in.  
  
And speaking of SCD business, how was Ibuki faring? Of them all she had the most dangerous job. If she got caught...no, no, she wouldn't. His grandpa had said she could do such an infiltration, and what James Storm trusted, Jeremy Storm trusted. The young Shinobi would be alright. He hoped. Still, he'd call Mark as soon as this fight was finished.  
  
"AND NOW LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT IS MY HONOR TO PRESENT YOU OUR HOST AND UNDEFEATED CHAMPION, SEBASTIAN SHARELL!!!!"  
  
Jeremy looked at the man he wasa to fight, considering him carefully. He was a middle-aged, man, with rather short, thinning gray hair, in a dark blue gi with a bright, golden belt. The man was strongly built, with large hands and slightly over large fet. Very light blue eyes looked out from a proeminent brow and hawkish nose, while a slighlty squarish jaw framed a slight smirk. The man moved with arrogance and supreme confidence. Jeremy was immediately reminded of his cousin, Thomas. That did not help him. Worse, this man showed no marks that usual experienced fighters showed. Marks of care and pain. Slightly crushed noses, scars, something in the eyes, that showed and said "I'm here because I've fought my way here." He saw none of that.  
  
You never went through the loss of a fight, Jeremy thought somberly, this tournanment - its a charade, isn't it? No one that are swayed your way are strong enough to be a danger to you. Unlike me, unlike anyone on the streets I know and respect, you've never been hurt, humiliated or humbled. You disgust me.  
  
This, added to the fact this man sold drugs on the very streets Storms had sometimes fought in, just added to his rising hire. Only the desire to end this quickly swayed him in any way to contain it back to something simmering below the surface. He approached the man for the usual rules. His adversary smirked at him.  
  
"Let's hope you can put a good fight." he said with barely contained arrogance. "I see you wear the gauntlets of the Black Panther, your Uncle, I think. I hope your worthy of that name."  
  
"I have always hoped I was." he said mildly. Inwardly, he sneered. The Black Panther would have wiped the floor with you and you know it. You probably never considered challenging him to a fight. "This must really irk you, to meet someone who can stand up to you, Sharell." he hissed suddenly. "Well, get this, today you're going down. For all the kids you've addicted, for all the hopes you've crushed in good young fighters in this farce of a tournament, I'm going to take you. And defeat you so utterly that you'll NEVER recover." Feeling his anger building, he turned away, calming down. Behind him, there was anger, confusion, indignation. And fear. Oh, yes, there was a lot of that. He took his position and waited for the signal, oblivious to anything until he heard one word.  
  
"FIGHT!"  
  
The two opponents met at the center of the rings with a flurry of punches and kicks. The young Storm lay into his opponent coldly, not missing any holes. The man was good. Naturally very good. Had he taken true risks, challenged people who could defeat him, he probably would've amounted to something really dangerous. As it was, the defense had many holes that any street brawler worth his salt knew how to exploit. Of course, one needed strength to do that effectively. None of the previous opponents had. But Jer had one advantage.  
  
The control of his Chi.  
  
He channeled him through his arm as he stroke a shot at his opponents side, channeled him into his feet to increase the speed and power of a kick to the hip, channeled it to his senses that allowed him to dodge most of his opponent's moves, to dodge most others. Still he found Sharell at him, although he seemed to be weakened somehow. The man WAS good, keeping up with this, and Jeremy was tiring more quickly because of the extensive use of chi he ordained for his body. The combattants locked upon one another, each delivering crushing blows. Still Jeremy was winning. His opponent was losing ground, one eye swelled shut. He delivered another punch, violent yet precise, to the man's face. It impacted on the nose, breaking it on contact. His adversary reeled back from that new pain.  
  
Seven times. Seven times my nose has been broken. And I'm nineteen. You're in your late forties, and this is your first. And a bully like you calls himself a fighter. Hah!  
  
To other opponents Jeremy would have given a reprieve, a slight chance to recover strength and dignity. But this man had no honor, drug-dealing, setting fake drams, harvesting money from the pain and the despair of others. This man deserved no honor. So he gave that man absolutely no time to rest, coming at him as fierce as ever, ignoring the breath that was starting to come short, the muscles that were starting to groan in protest. He summoned his chi again, even thought it was starting to feel rather sluggish, and leapt over the air, dropping down with his foot aimed at his adversary, a foot blueish in hue because of his Chi.  
  
"EAGLE STRIKE!"  
  
He was stopped. Before he stroke, Sharell had put his arm in front of him, probably calling on every little bit of will he had, and had managed to harden his arm to stop the attack. Jeremy was stunned, flung backward, dimly aware the crowd was roaring such they might start breaking the place apart. He managed to land on his feet unsteadily, and for a moment found himself at a loss. The Eagle Strike blocked so easily! That had never happened before. Was the technique that puny? Or was he himself losing his edge. Or both? This was an humbling though, and one that he would be thinking about after the fight.  
  
He heard a moan from his opponent, and looked over. Sharell was holding his arm, which was twisted at a strange angle, his face livid and bloodless. The young man grinned. So that was why the guy hadn't attacked. The Eagle Strike had been blocked, right, but it had also utterly broken his arm. With only one arm, he was no match. Jeremy took a deep breath, steadying himself. He saw Cammy beyond the ring, looking at the fight and mouthing something.  
  
'Thirty seconds.' she mouthed.  
  
He walked up to the man. Slowly, deliberately. Refusing to show his own weakness, his own fatigue. He grabbed the shivering, gasping man by the front of his Gi. Put his hand right in front of the pain-filled face. And let the Chi gather, flow, and become a white-hot ball around his fist.  
  
"Game over, motherfucker." and he pointed his hand towards the man's privates. He smirked as the man's eyes widened. "Remember, I said you'd never recover."  
  
There was a moment of shock, even the crowd felt it. A moment of absolute silence.  
  
"FLARE TALON!!!!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
A the same time...  
  
Ibuki was flung backward, flipping back to her feet and giving a frank glare toward the clone-like twins that she had against herself. The battle against this freakish team, although not yet truly dangerous, was certainly damn well problematic.  
  
If there'd been only one of them, there wouldn't have been a problem. However, the two of them worked as a whole. A very unified whole. A damn good one. She rapidly saw that one had great defense, the other great offense, and that both had great speed, nearly as much as she. And they used this to alternatively block her attack, followed immediately by a surprisingly skilled and powerful attack. She couldn't really place the style, it seemed a rather unique mix of street skills and bits of different martial arts, which these two had definitely worked up to an artform. And these moves, synchronised so well they might as well come from a sole person, it was starting to freak her out. She faced her opponents, who had regained their identical stances.  
  
"Surrender and we..." said one.  
  
"...will not kill you." finished the other. Their faces remained as neutral as ever, but had an intense look to them now. As for she, it was all she could do to keep from laughing outloud. But she couldn't resist a smirk.  
  
"Not that I'd think you guys wouldn't honor you word, " she stated ironically, "But where I come from, the word 'surrender' is kind of unknown. Besides, I don't think that it'd be very...HEALTHY... for my sexuality to stay with people like you."  
  
Silmultaneous blink, silmultaneous shrug.  
  
"We are sorry..."  
  
"...to hear that." And they attacked.  
  
She dodged the blow, the other twin blocking her return kick, upon which she was hit by a quick punch to the side. It hurt - later it would probably hurt like hell - but the Chi and the adrenaline that pumped through her system kept the pain to a minimum. She rolled backward. This time, however, the twins weren't fast enough for some reason, and she saw an opening on the defensive twin. With lightning-quick reflexes, she had drawn two kunai and throwned them in a single smooth gesture. She had tried before, but the defensive twin had blocked with his arms perfectly. This time, his defense was opened, ever so slightly. The blades stroke before he could close it again. One kunai lodged in his ribs, the other cut a hole in the man's stomach. The defensive one cried out in pain, stumbling back. That left the aggressive twin to deal with.  
  
She waited for his charge, which came reluctantly but with even more fire than before. She willed her Chi to gather, forcing it up her right arm, chanelling the flow as perfectly as she could in the short circumstances. The man attacked with a blow to her chest, which she dodged, taking the extreme risk of coming into close range by doing so. He grabbed her with a suddenly very emotional snarl, and things might have gone badly then, except that he opened up his arms to do so. Her Chi was ready, throbbing throught her hand, she brought it up.  
  
"RAIDA!"  
  
A ball of Chi went upward, smashing against the man's chest. The twin was thrown up and away from her, ultimately crashing into the wall, head first. He seemed not to have been knocked out, but out of the fight, certainly for a good while. It would be many minutes before the pain subsided sufficiently at the range the Raida had hit. This left only the more defensive twin. She turned back to him as soon as the other had impacted upon the floor.  
  
The man had pulled the kunais form the wounds, leaving rivulets of blood to flow. His eyes were wide, veins appearing at his temple and brow. He was pissed at her. Perfect. A pissed defensive man was useless in a fight. She watched him advance towards her menacingly, utterly unimpressed.  
  
"You bitch! I'll break your pretty head like an egg!" he snarled.  
  
She raised an amused brow. "Finally an actually COMPLETE sentence from one of you jerks."  
  
He growled, charging at her. As she thought, his defense was just about shot. And he wasn't the offensive one of the pair. She summoned her Chi again, intent on finishing this fight once and for all. He came at her with a slashing hand, which she blocked, counter-attacking with a severe blow to his wounded ribcage. He gagged, and she decided to end it here and now. She took into the air, delivering a kick using alll the energy she had in her body. It connected with a satisfying crunch, and the second twin crumpled to the floor. She surveyed what she had done and smiled.  
  
"Strong arm, glass jaw. It figures, somehow." she said distantly, picking up the SCD listening device. "Hello?"  
  
"About time! I was finished minutes ago! What kept you?" came Mark's voice.  
  
"Problem with clones, is all." she said mildly. "So, you have the information?"  
  
"All in. Kale is toast here."  
  
"Very well." she said. "Then I'll get out of here." and she moved out of the room.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Twenty minutes later...  
  
A man and a woman were waiting anxiously next to a car, surveying the environs of the particular part of Montreal slums they stood amidst. They weren't speaking much to each other. Ever since Sharell had been taken by policemen - thirty seconds after Cammy's warning of the raid - they had barely spoken, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Jeremy spoke up.  
  
"I hope she's alright." he mused in concern.  
  
"She was able to get in easily. She should be able to get out just as easily." was the calm reply.  
  
He eyed her. "Hope you're right. I really would hate to lose her, she's quite exceptional. She'll make a great Shinobi, I'm sure."  
  
"I'm very flattered to hear that, sir." came a voice.  
  
Both agents nearly jumped out of their skins, whirling and taking on defensive stances on instinct, spotting a figure sitting on the car. Recognising who it was immediately, they relaxed and backed down.  
  
"Ibuki! Darn you! How long have you been there?" growled Jeremy, unable to keep all the mirth off his voice, which rendered the would-be menacing tone useless. The young ninja, looking tired but hale, lifted her brows as if considering.  
  
"A minute. Perhaps two. Does it matter?" she answered seriously, yet with a smile. Jeremy grinned back.  
  
"I guess it doesn't. Well, I'm glad you're okay! And now that you're here, there's no sense in staying here, is there? After all." and there he shot a look at Cammy, "There are things that must urgently be settled, and we gotta be ready for Kale's retributive strike against us when he learns SCD engineered it." he smiled again, looking like a teenager for once, his eyes twinkling. "But first, I gotta show you a place I ate in a few years back when I visited the town with my uncle."  
  
"Oh. What is it?"  
  
"A restaurant. I'm hungry, and they serve the best fettucini I've ever eaten! Hop in!"  
  
Ibuki gave a shrug. "I never tried italian food. Why not?" and she jumped down and stepped into the car. Both SCD agents started to follow, but then the blond woman looked at the building underneath of which the not-so-secret-anymore compound was located. She looked back at her partner.  
  
"Do you think Kale will be angry?"  
  
He grinned. "As a damn, annoying hornet, he will. You can bet on that."  
  
Silence for a moment. "Good."  
  
"Exactly what I thought." and then they stepped into the car. They felt good today. They had helped deal a grievious blow against a very dangerous man, had by that saved who knew how many lives, and, to boot, had had plenty of exercice. Certainly, there would be harsh reprisals. Kale wasn't the kind of man who likes to be beaten in any kind of games, especially one like that. But they would deal with it later.  
  
For today, they all knew, had been a very fine day indeed.  
  
____________________________________________________________  
Sorry if the end seems rushed guys. I was terribly sick when I finsished it and it may be sub-standard. I did not re-write it because this chapter is only mildly important to the plot. Soon, a new part begins, heralded in part in the next chapter. Prepare to see some old faces in Chapter 14 of Will and Fate!  
  
As always, I love ideas and feedback! ^_^  
  
Jeremy 


	16. Chapter 14

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 14  
  
September 14, 1997  
  
The penthouse of the exclusive Limeric Lion Hotel was truly exquisite: white or blue-tiled floors or rich, high-price carpets brough all the way from Argentina, walls covered with oak panes from Canada, maple tables of the finest make, chairs of real leather, indian curtains and a bed of oak with Brazilian silk shetts. Add to this a pool, a private dinner room, a small but luxurious study a large living room with large bay windows that overlooked the city, and a luxurious shower, and you had one of the summits of excentricity and wealth, the kind of place only the very rich or the very powerful could dream of being in for any length of time, much less sleep in it.  
  
Kale happened to be both of these qualificatives.  
  
Righ now he sat in a armchair, sipping some nice bordeaux, a 1956 Chateau-Laffite to be precise, after having eaten a dinner made of a top sirloin cut of nice, Irish beef, some vegetables and a few cuts of fromage de chèvre, an excellent dinner worthy of this hotel's French chef. His chef, actually, for the Limerick Lion was his, after all. He smiled at the view, as he smiled at so many things. The city was sleepy, night drawing it in, and it was illuminated like a sprinkle of stars.  
  
"Ah, Limerick, you always make me want to smile." he said softly, the burst out laughing. He then felt Everick's presence. "Yes, my friend?"  
  
"We have him." was the usual stoic, calm response. The dark man was back to his old mannerism, which suited Kale just fine.  
  
"Ah! Then bring him in by all means!"  
  
Everick nodded, went to the door, opened it and gestured. Immediately two large, grey clothed council Acolytes appeared, impassively dragging a struggling Sebastian Sharell between them. The Canadian struggled with all his might, but that wouldn't save him. Strong he migh be, but he wasn't as strong as the two men holding him. And, even if he could, there was the impassable, black-clothed wall named Everick. The man seemed to be caught between terror and anger, and seemed unable to choose which he should pick. But he would know soon.  
  
"Sebastian!" greeted Kale, eyes alight and wide smile, as if the man was an old friend. "How good of you to come here! We have something to talk about, you and I!"  
  
The man seemed reluctant to speak, but finally put up a brave facade. "What do you want here Kale?" he asked.  
  
"Why, I though you knew. Ah, news travel so slowly. Perhaps you've forgotten that you've been made to look like a fool back in Canada, while the Circle lost face and a lot of money." his tone, although still merry, took on a steely touch that forebode nothing good. The man's eyes widened. He started to sweat Terror was the only thing in his eyes now. About time. Kale wondered how such a glory-grabbing, hollow fool could have been put in charge of such a lucrative business.  
  
"Listen, Kale. That wasn't my fault. These people, they were..."  
  
"Two SCDs and a Shinobi. Yes I know. Three people. Only three. And you failed in your task. You failed the Circle. And you made me look bad. Now what am I supposed to do now?" he crossed his arms, as if pondering. He then snapped his finger. "Of course! I'll kill you and find a better guy of the Maple Flag to take your place! What do you think, Everick?"  
  
"A fine, logical course." was the calm reply.  
  
Kale laughed, slapping his friend on the shoulder. "Its so nice to be appreciated by people of quality." he turned his eyes to the now heavily struggling Sharell. "Now, as for you."  
  
Sharell suddenly started to cough, his hands reaching for his throat. He looked at Kale with eyes that were wild with fear. Kale's eyes, for their part, blazed a purplish red, his Outer Powers manifesting fully. The man tried to struggle again, gagged and started to jerk around like a madman, so much the two men holding him let him go. He lunged at Kale with croak, his face turning a sickly, purplish blue. He never made it to Kale. A black-wrapped form put himself between the executioner and his prey and with mighty shoved, pushed the man down on the floor. The man jerked in spasm, agonizing. He then gave a garbled cry, and lay still at last. Kale gave the corpse a look of disgust.  
  
"I can see that your methods are as swift as ever." came a voice. A deep, commanding voice, the exuded control and the slightest bit of amusement. Kale knew that voice extremely well, and turned to see a tall, muscular figure dressed in a crimson uniform, looking at him with a bare grin.  
  
"Bison." he breathed, some fear and much excitement booming inside him. He mastered his expression. "Everick, take care of the Canadian problem. And tell Marcel to be ready if our illustrious guest wishes to eat something."  
  
Everick nodded. If he was fazed by Bison's sudden appearance, it did not show. He had to give a sharp command to the two gaping acolytes, who dragged the body outside the penthouse. In a matter of moments, all was quiet and left the two men. The silence did not last long, however.  
  
"So. To what do I owe the honor, Lord Bison?" he said with dancing eyes.  
  
"Is simply wishing to see how my younger brother is doing not enough?" retorted the larger and far more imposing man. Kale watched as Bison actually seemed to relax, to be at ease. It wasn't something he did often. Only Kale, the ex-Circle Lady Rose and perhaps Elder Jattrus had ever seen this powerful man drop his guard even slightly.  
  
"Maybe, but I doubt you'd take time from rebuilding and fortifying Shadowlaw just for seeing me." he laughed softly. "I'm not the man you are, Pet...Bison, but I'm not stupid."  
  
Bison nodded, as if very pleased. "And I can see that now. My lessons were well-learned." he looked at the bordeaux for a moment, then looked back at him. "And yet you managed to surpass me in some fields, like your astounding taste for wines."  
  
Mere moments later Bison was comfortably enscounced into the very armchair Kale had used moments before, with the younger man serving him some of the bordeaux that had just been talked about. There was a familiarity in the room, a familiarity that would have surprised anyone who thought knew the two men. But then again, Kale knew, they were brothers, even thought they had a quarter century of difference in age - the one who was born too early and the other, too late. The two unwanted. The two powerful ones.  
  
Kale settled into another chair, hands on his knees. "Okay. There's only the two of us here. So what's going on in that twisted mind of yours, Bison." even thought the sentence was structured teasingly,it was still spoken with a very great deal of respect.  
  
Bison sipped his liquor for a moment before answering. "I want you not to attack the SCD right now." he said simply. Like he was laying down the law. For a moment Kale gaped, at a loss. But the strength returned soon, and so did his voice.  
  
"That's not possible. They made me look like a complete fool. The Elders laugh behind my back. I must show them that this little gouvernmental band won't stop the likes of me." he looked steadily into bison's eyes, a blue so soft it was undistinguisable from the white of the white that surrounded it. "Not to attack would seem like weakness. I can't have that happen..." he trailed off as Bison raised a hand with a deep chuckle.  
  
"I did not ask you NOT to attack them. I said not right now. There is something in SCD that I want again." his eyes narrowed. "She has escaped my control. I must find out how. And break her for doing so. Ever since I had the...mishap...with Ryu Hoshi and Ken Masters, I have been secretely rebuilding, reinforcing my Shadowlaw's position. Regaining that...tool...would be appropriate in showing that I am indeed master of all who work there, that there is NO escape." he fell silent.  
  
"But, then...why not take her - for I think I know who you mean - right now? With your power..."  
  
"Yes, but she is supported much and I have no wish yet to waste my time with SCD. I wish to wait for a time when she is already breaking down inwardly. That will make the job...easier...afterwards."  
  
"I...see. And how would that help me? For this doesn't seem to be profitable to my standpoint." Kale mused.  
  
"Ah, but it is!" Bison sipped the bordeaux again and gave a very small smile. "There is a way for both of us to have what we want. Here is my plan, listen well..."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
  
Four days later...  
  
Rose was much older than it appeared. And she had seen and her and even felt more than most greybeards and old crones could ever brag about. From this knowledge had come compassion, and a great deal of wisdom. However, as she looked to the woman seated, nervous and ill-at-ease, in front of her, she knew that even with all her knowledge and powers, she knew this little meeting would be...tricky.  
  
The young woman had been sent by her friend Julia, who had privately told her all she could about this young woman and her problem. She really needn't have bothered, for the lavender-haired woman could see much just by looking at her temporary ward attentively. The first thing she felt was that she was strong. Physically, that was plain, but mentally as well, if the demons she held were as strong as she thought. The eyes that looked back at her spoke of defiance, of a very hot temper that could easily flare, but also of deeper things, horrible events she had no wish to talk about. The eyes also spoke of sadness, of loneliness and of somwthing that seem to gnaw at her, something beyond the nightmares and the pain.  
  
The young and, she had no trouble admitting, beautiful Cammy White was far more complex than one would think at first - part of the reason Rose hated most first impressions. But this wasn't the time to make such considerations. She had to gauge this woman first.  
  
"I will not ask you what has happened in detail, my dear girl, " she said softly, affably. "But I will have to ask some things of you, or I will be unable to help you."  
  
The woman in front of her did not flinch, althought she could easily read the efforts it was taking. Quite a toll. Her opinion of the girl rose swiftly. "I've come here because I wanted to know how to get rid of this," was the reply. "If you need answers, I will give those which I can."  
  
She nodded. "While you were in Shadowlaw, were you beaten?"  
  
Silence. And then a slow nod.  
  
"Tortured?" she was asking this calmly, but inwardly Rose disliked the whole discussion. She quite saw that these simple questions were the of the kind that the braided girl hated. But she had to ask them.  
  
"Yes." slow, painfully said. Memories probably coming back unbidden. The answer was expected. After all, torture was a very common way to break up someone's spirit. Somehow, however, this was something she really didn't think had broken this MI6 Agent. Strong-willed, with a temper to match, this could have shaken her, badly. But not broken her.  
  
Oh, well, why was she doing this? She knew quite well what had broken her in the end, rendering her psyche vulnerable to Bison. An ugly thing, a despicable thing, that had to be laid on the table right now, to make things clear.  
  
"Raped?" she made her voice so compassionate, so gentle. Who would have thought you were just as hot-tempered as this one, when you were younger, heh, Rose? She saw a flash of pain in the girls eyes, a repressed shiver. She didn't even need to see her nod. She knew that Bison had abused her much. After all, she was to be a tool of her later on, and a very beautiful one. So why not use it in as many ways as one could? Yes, this was certainly what he had thought. It certainly matched what she remembered of him.   
  
No wonder, with all the psychic meddling he had wrought in her head, that Cammy couldn't help but seeing him everytime she was afraid or angry. He was the paragon of both emotions to her. Rose laid back on her chair, considering this problem. Psychic problems were something that one tread with very carefully.   
  
Strange, but she detected a psychic link withing her, something faint. As if she was linked with another mind somehow. Was this possible? Was this why she had been able to escape Bison's control? Perhaps. Yet she chose not to talk about the link. It would only make the young woman nervous.  
  
"Do you have a man in your life?" she asked suddenly. From the expression the young woman shot her, it had been the last thing that she had thought to be asked about. "And I do not ask to know if you consider men friends. I mean a lover, someone you are intimate with."  
  
At the words 'lover' and 'intimate', Cammy had shivered slightly, her eyes glazing slightly, her expression strange before she shook her head, wordlessly. But there was something in the way she did it, something timid, fearful. An hopeful little light. Rose almost smiled. She knew what that look meant.  
  
"You don't have one, but you'd want one who already loves you." She stated it simply. It wasn't a question, it was a fact.  
  
The young woman shook her head slightly, her eyes slightly downcast. "I...I don't know if he really loves me. I..."  
  
"Oh, nonsense! You wouldn't be so hesitant to talk about it if you didn't think that he had something for you."  
  
Again the young woman seemed to hesitate, but Rose cared not. She saw hope now. Althought seemingly superfluous, her question about a lover was quite sound. Abused people tended to eschew relationships with the opposite sex, for obvious reasons. For many of them, the very thought of an intimate relationship was something frightening and impossible for long, sometimes for an entire lifetime. Cammy was frightened, very frightened, but she did not discount the possibility. For a normal traumatized person, that was something. For a person who had been traumatized by a PSYCHIC, it was even more. This girl truly was of the finest mettle. That and her strong Inner...Chi had certainly been driving points in her 'recruiting'.  
  
"Very well. I think I know this young man. Jeremy Storm, is that it?"  
  
Her eyes widened. "Well, if you must know, yes. But how do you know him?"  
  
"My dear girl, I once held him in my arms." she stated. She saw the flash of hurt and jealousy that went throught the blond woman's face and quickly amended her statement with a soft laugh. "No, nothing like THAT! I held him in my arms when he was a baby, perhaps not three months old."  
  
"B-but that was nineteen years ago. You must have been..."  
  
"Younger yes. But I looked nearly the same as I do now. I know his family well. His wise grandfather...and..." She stopped, her eyes flashing sadness for a second. "And his mother. He comes from good people. And I know from this and from what I hear of Julia Simmons, that he is a good man, someone you can depend on." she smiled "And that is good, for the easiest way to defeat what Bison did is throught him."  
  
"What? Him? How?" the tone was sceptical, unsure.  
  
"By telling him. Everything. All that happened to you. To open up to him fully, without fear. That would be my first step. Or it need not be the first, but it is a very important step."  
  
That's when she saw the soldier's look crumble, that she saw the fragile girl that was underneath the though exterior. The concept she had just told her about was common practice, and common sense. It was a very important step to anyone with a trauma: to talk about it with someone you trusted, someone whom you knew could understand. The idea had occured to Cammy, it seemed. And it scared her terribly. Once again, and surely not for the last time, she cursed Bison, the Circle and all those who used their Outer Powers to hurt and maim people. Bison especially, for he was the most powerful of those, and by far the worst.  
  
"I...I don't know if I...can do that." Cammy whispered.  
  
"You must. One day. But as for the nightmares, the images that reccured far too easily, that is psychic." she sighed "And there is only one way to treat that to make it controllable."  
  
"And that is?" was the question. A very judicious question. Just not one that she really wanted to answer right off. But the ball was rolling, there was no more turning back.  
  
She brought her chair nearer, trying to banish the nervousness which was suddenly growing within her. This was the trickiest part of this entire meeting, and she knew she could not fail here. If she did, the girl might be lost to her, unwilling to listen anymore. And that may be her doom.  
  
"I will explain to you." she said gently, a bit of nervousness creeping into her voice. "All of it. Before you react, you must hear me out until the end. Agreed?" she looked intently into the other woman's eyes.   
  
A slow nod came. Reluctant, wary. This wasn't going to be a moment either was going to enjoy. Not at all. Taking a deep breath, collecting her thoughts Rose, one of the most powerful psychic and fighter in the world, started to explain her idea, the way to save Cammy's psyche from Bison's damage.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At about the same time...  
  
Returning from his late evening walk, Nathan McIntyre looked at his watch, and incredulously read 11:06, and ran the rest of the way home. Well, it was running, but a slower, clumsier run, accented by the repeated TOC TOC TOC of his cane, which was trying to keep in beat with his rythm. Groaning against the pain in his leg - pain that lanced out everytime he did anything very stressful, pain that would always be there, waiting - he managed to cover the block in far less time than he should. His watch marked 10:09.  
  
Ten minutes late! his mind screamed as he bolted inside his home.  
  
The home of the McIntyre family was rather large - two storied, four bedrooms, large dining room, comfortable livingroom - all furnished in as way that showed rightly that these people had a bit more money than others. Why not? Maria Smith-McIntyre was an University teacher and Bob McIntyre vice president of a small computer company. All of this did not matter to Nate, who rushed throught the house, barely acknowledging his father, who was watching some late show, and descending the stairs with haste. He entered his bedroom, passed the personal library that he was building up after six years of collecting books of all sorts, and came to his monstrous, high-speed, cable-connected 600mhz Pentium with scanner, printer, speakers, modem, and all sort of other technological knick-knacks that was a all another positive side to a father who worked in computers. He opened his screen, immediately restarting the mainframe which had been put on standby, and logged on to his Instant Messenger. He looked at the list of connected people and was joyous to see Kelly56 online.  
  
Kelly56: HI!!! I WAS STARTING TO WONDER WHEN YOU'D SHOW UP!  
  
He sighed in relief, typing back his answer.  
  
WhiteMage: SORRY. I WAS WALKING AROUND AND FORGOT THE TIME.  
  
Kelly 56: HEY, NO PROBLEM! THESE THINGS HAPPEN! ^_^  
SO, WHAT'S UP?  
  
WhiteMage: OH, THE USUAL. GATHERED SOME INFO FROM MY CONTACTS, STROLLED AROUND, GOT INSULTED BY SOME STUPID ***HOLES. REALLY, THE USUAL. ^_^  
  
Althought he wrote the last as if it didn't bother him, it did. A lot. He could remember what the stupid fool had said, as he walked down the street, alone, just taking in the fresh, autumn air. Two guys, probably worthless bums who had no education, had spotted him. And one of them just couldn't resist the temptation of hurting what he saw as an inferior, crippled man.  
  
Hey, grampa! You be careful out there! You just might be hurt later! And then he had laughed, contemptuously, as if his bad joke was worth a million. and the other guy had laughed, with contempt as well. And worse. Pity. As if he was something a level below them, something broken down, someone useless. And he had hated these two kids for it, hated them with a passsion.  
  
Pity. He had never needed it, never wanted it and sure as hell never EARNED it! His friends hadn't pitied him, except in the beginning, then they had accepted the situation. He had forgiven Claudia for it almost immediately after she stopped, Jeremy and Alex later, probably because he saw them - young athletes, strong and swift, who probably turned every single female pair of eyes when they walked on the street. But the two had never acted superior with him, and he had thought, foolishly, that these people, who struggled so hard to become strong in body, understood his feelings, his situation.  
  
All that had changed a few weeks ago, when the young ninja - Ibuki, was it? - had answered with his comment about driving to the Storms' home with an incredulous 'YOU drive?'. He had been angry then. Angry and hurt as hell, and he thought that if her whole Clan was like that, then that Clan was shit, for all its power.  
  
If you were crippled, Ibuki, what would you do? he thought viciously, then recoiled as the meaning of what he had just thought sunk in. Dear God, had he gone THAT bitter? He sincerely hoped not. So engaged was he that he didn't even see the answer that flashed back at first. He then snapped back to reality.  
  
Kelly56: NOW YOU STOP RIGHT THERE, NATHAN! I CAN SEE YOU COMING WITH YOUR 'I'M A CRIPPLE AND I HATE IT' THING! SAVE IT! YOUR ANYTHING BUT THAT! YOU'VE GOT A BRILLIANT MIND, AND A VERY GENTLE PERSONALITY. I NEVER COULD'VE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE WHO DIDN'T HAVE THOSE QUALITIES!  
  
Nathan read the rant with a smile, wondering how in only three months she could read him so well. But then, she was a very bright girl indeed, and read into people well. He then read something in the message that made him jump slightly. Thinking he'd read it wrong, he read it again. It wasn't wrong. With slightly shaking hands, he wrote back.  
  
WhiteMage: FALLEN IN LOVE, AREA?  
  
Long there was no answer. And then...  
  
Kelly56: DARN. I REALLY BLEW IT THIS TIME, HUH? :(  
  
WhiteMage: NO! I LOVE YOU TOO, AREA! ITS JUST THAT YOU'RE A WORLD WARRIOR! I'M LIKE SO LAGGING BEHIND YOU PHYSICALLY...  
  
Kelly56: OH, NATHAN! IS THAT WHAT'S BEEN BOTHERING YOU EVER SINCE YOU LEARNED THAT? DON'T YOU REMEMBER I'M IN THEIR LEAGUE BECAUSE OF MY FATHER'S INVENTIONS? WITHOUT THEM, I WOULDN'T BE MUCH STRONGER THAN THE AVERAGE GIRL. HUM...IS IT TRUE? DO YOU LOVE ME?  
  
Nathan didn't even hesitate for an instant. For him, there was only one answer that could be given, the only one that was in his heart.  
  
WhiteMage: AREA, I FELL IN LOVE WITH YOU LONG, VERY LONG BEFORE EVEN SAW A PICTURE OF YOU, OR HEARD YOUR VOICE ON THE PHONE THAT TIME, THREE WEEKS AGO.  
  
It sounded a little lame, he knew, but he had never been good with romantic words. His volontary isolation after that crazed monster that had once been, well, not friend like Jeremy but friendly acquaintance, Thomas Storm, had taken him for a 'betrayer' and nearly killed him, had not helped. However, he knew also that what he had said was meant. And Area could tell, she divined him so well.  
  
Kelly56: I...I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY! I THOUGHT I WAS MAKING A FOOL OF MYSELF, THAT YOU DIDN'T FEEL THIS. A DREAM.  
  
WhiteMage: ARE YOU HAPPY, AREA?  
  
Kelly56: YES! VERY! HEH...FINDING LOVE ON THE NET. WHAT WOULD OUR FRIENDS THINK?  
  
WhiteMage: YOURS, I DON'T KNOW, BUT MINE WOULDN'T MIND. THEIR LOVELIVES WERE...PECULIAR TO SAY THE LEAST! ^_^  
  
As he sent this message, the scarred man was reminded of Melissa. Beautiful Melissa, who had been savagely killed, no butchered, by Tom. Yes, Jeremy had a very peculiar lovelife...a very sad one. That was why Jeremy and he communicated so well - they both walked wounded. Jer just didn't look it as much as he.  
  
Kelly56: DARN, I HAVE TO GO. MY DAD NEEDS ME FOR SOMETHING. YOU'LL BE THERE TOMORROW? ON TIME ^_^  
  
WhiteMage: EARLY! ^_^ GOOD NIGHT, AREA, I LOVE YOU.  
  
Kelly56: I LOVE YOU TOO. G'NIGHT!  
  
And she was off, leaving Nathan alone in his room again. Alone? Not truly, for he felt something within him, something that made him want to shout and dance like a crazy fool. It came directly from his soul, filled his heart, and illuminated his mind. She loved him. Area loved him.  
  
And that was something incredibly delicious to him. For the first time in years, he felt like the Nathan McIntyre of before.  
  
For the first time in years, he felt whole.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Thirty minutes later...  
  
Julia Simmons had never liked being left out of something. Ever since she had been that little runt at an orphanage, she had hated it with a passion. Even when the people who left her out had a good reason, or simply had the right to do so. It still pissed her off somewhat. This was exactly how she felt as she stood like a vigil in front of Rose's Palace, waiting as Cammy and the owner and homonym of the little shop finished their conversation. No one stopped to talk to her, as she had positioned herself in a place and a way that made her well-nigh invisible. She liked that ability. It gave you time to think.  
  
She really couldn't believe she had done it, taken the time, and expenses, so that this meeting could be arranged. She certainly wouldn't have done it to Cammy. To Julia, the braided woman was still Shadowlaw. Who cares if she was brainwashed, who cares if the things she had done weren't exactly her fault, she STILL had done these things. She had said so to Giorgio vehemently, more than once.  
  
"We've done our share of 'things' too, Julia." had been his calm, deadpan answer. Darn him, anyway!  
  
But she couldn't refuse Jeremy. Although she considered jim a little naive at times, the young man had always given her a very good impression. Morover, he had helped a lot in patching up the last misunderstanding between she and Giorgio. She owed him a favour, and she knew it. So, in the end, she had had no choice at all. And so here was the end result. To wait out a meeting she knew nothing about, outside, in the cold air of early morning, thousands of miles away from London.  
  
What the hell are they talking about, anyway?!? She fumed. They've been in there together for over an hour! Is this a damn counselling session or what?!?  
  
Breathe in, breathe out, calm down. There's no point to being upset. She tried to tell herself that, but it didn't work very well. She still felt irritated. She tried Jeremy's little calming litany, which seems to work on her so well. Family Litany, he'd called it. Who cared? It really seemed to work, and to Julia Simmons, results were extremely important.  
  
Never let anger cloud your judgement. Let your mind be clear. Focus on the task and not on the reason for the task. Let your mind be clear. See behind the hate and the violence. Let your mind be...  
  
Her little mental sing-a-song was brutally interrupted as the door to Rose's shop burt open, and Cammy White nearly ran out, red-faced, with an expression that contained fear and not just a little bit of wrath. A frigthening look. The young woman passed Simmons without seeing her, and the higher-ranking agent was too surprise, on that very moment, to call out to her to stop as the other girl litterally charged down the street. First things first, she decided, she had to check on Rose and find what the hell was going on.  
  
She opened the room to find Rose still sitting at the same chair that she had been sitting in when she had left them alone, a slightly troubled look on her classical, lavender-framed face. She looked as thought she was saddened by what had happened. Saddened, but not really surprised, however. She looked towards her as Julia entered.  
  
"Okay," said the small, frail-looking, black-haired SCD officer. "I'll be blunt here: what just happened?"  
  
A sigh. "I told her the solution that she would need, what would help her cure herself. She did not like it. But it would be better if she told you about it."  
  
"Why do I have the distinct impression that this has become a very bad morning?" groaned Julia.  
  
"Perhaps it is so, most probably. Go now, my dear. Find her and try to calm her down. The solution is a good one, she will see that in time."  
  
From the look Cammy had had when she left, one could really have doubts on that. But now was not the time to argue. Julia had to find the girl. For the younger SCD had a very nasty, unstable temper nowadays, which Joan said meant she had problems dealing with her newfound emotions, that made her pretty loose cannon and unpredictable - even the Shinobi girl had said so.. She gave her goodbyes to Rose, promising to call and visit again, and took off to find her wayward charge.  
  
She found her quickly. Cammy might beat her in may things, but she wasn't the fox that she was at finding people. She managed to catch up to her after ten minutes of hurried but stealthy pursuit. She decided not to grab her - that would bring her only trouble. She decided that voice contact was far better.  
  
"So leaving like you seen a ghost, White?" she called.  
  
That stopped the girl, who turned around slowly. The fear had faded from her eyes but the wrath, to Julia's discomfort, was still way present. Not good. Not good at all. This situation was officially delicate as of now.  
  
Finally the braided girl spoke. Well, spat was closer to the term, but at least it was coherent a spat. "That damn know-it-all SEER! When did I ever think that seeing a low-class psychic to discuss my problem?!?"  
  
Julia fairly bristled when she heard her old friend and helper called a 'low-class psychic", knowing Rose was probably one of the most powerful in the world. However, she understood that the other girl was in the middle of something that prompted her to spit venom on everything, and kept her cool.  
  
"Whenever the moment, you thought it, so DEAL with it. What did she propose?"  
  
There was silence. Angry silence, that seemed to stretch. Thank The Lord that there were few pedestrians walking around at this hour, or they look like two fools. Thinking no answer would be forthcoming, she started to ask again, more impatiently, but was cut off by the answer.  
  
"She wants to use her powers to block off the worst of Bison's meddling, or so she says." she growled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me."  
  
Julia was tempted to laugh, but refrained. This was ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with that, as far as she was concerned, and asked what was wrong with that. She wasn't prepared for the eruption that ensued.  
  
"THE PROBLEM?!?!? THE PROBLEM'S THAT THE FUCKING SOLUTION OF HERS IS TO HAVE HER TELEPATHIC SHIT IN MY HEAD!!" she spoke a bit softer then, but the ire remained. "No way am I letting any of these people get inside my head!"  
  
"Hey, hey! Hold on! Rose's NOT Bison. She's bloody trying to help you!" Julia snapped. The only answer she had at first was a hand that grabbed her coat and brought her on eye-to-eye level. Althought they were the same height, Cammy was far more athletic and far, far stronger. The grip was steel.  
  
"You don't know these people like I do!" came the hiss. "How they think they can plumb through your mind, search for its weaknesses. I will never let that happen to me again. Ever."  
  
"Let go of me, White." Julia growled back.  
  
They both locked eyes for a moment, showing each other just how much they did not trust one another - Julia was starting to wonder if Cammy COULD trust - and finally the blond agent trust her senior back, letting go. She looked around, calming down, trying to patch up the volatile situation before it escalated again, but Cammy beat her to the punch.  
  
"Let's get out of here. This trip was an unfortunate waste of time."  
  
"Rose doesn't seem to think so."  
  
"I don't CARE what Rose thinks." with that the braided lass walked away. Julia did not try to stop her this time.  
  
Maybe you don't care, but I do. thought Julia. If Rose saw hope, she wouldn't start thinking this trip was a waste. She trusted the older psychic woman to come up with something to help the girl. Bloody hell, even she was tempted to help her now. If Jer hadn't gone training these days, he probably would have come. Maybe he could have helped prevent this little fiasco.  
  
Couldn't he?  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Three days later...  
  
Nathan McIntyre felt good as he strolled about the streets of Greenway. He had been feeling well for three days now, and had a very good reason to: he was in love. And love tended to bring out the best moods from people. It stemmed from the fact that the feeling was very much mutual, but also because he had once though the relationship impossible, and had thought so from the moment their tentative net and phone flirtation had started. First because he believed that long-distance relationships were an impossibility, second because he thought no athletic fighter would want to have anything to do with a cripple. He'd been wrong on both counts. And that made him extatic.  
  
He might have known, after all. Area seemed different. It was easy to talk to her, and she understood how his mind worked - something his friends had never achieved, even Claudia, and she'd known him since he was three. But then they'd never been interested quite THAT way in each other. Oh, perhaps some puppy love, but nothing really solid. It had all gone away once Alex had entered the picture, and he felt no grudge: they indeed were a marvelous couple, even if he happened to be a foot taler than she and look more than twice as wide.  
  
But this relationship, it was one that he had built, and a real one. Not just frienship there. There was love in it. And he hoped it was relationship that would last. After all, he didn't want to end up alone when he got old.  
  
So intent was he on his pleasing thoughts, he nearly passed the little backstreet. It was just when a cry of pain was uttered that he realized that, perhaps not twenty meters into that alley next to him, three guys were in the process of beating the crap out of another. He stared, unsure what to do, unsure of what he COULD do. He knew Alex or Jeremy would've been in the fray as soon as they saw the situation, but then they were strong and skilled. Nathan was neither. He could go get help, but by the time he did, these three would beat the guy even more. Hell! Flaming Hell! How he hated this situation. But he'd been around fighters and willful people for far to long to back out of this. Darn, he was willful himself! He'd take care of these punks!  
  
Yeah, right...  
  
"Hey, you there!" he shouted suddenly, surprising himself. "You stop that right now!"  
  
They stopped all right. They let go of the poor guy, who tried to rise, and turned to him. Young folk, no more than sixteen, armed with nothing but fists - thank god for small favors. Nate wasn't an athlete, but his natural outlook wasn't so bad and since he looked older, it made the young ruffians pause. For about one second. And then they saw his cane. And smiled at him.  
  
"Hey, its a cripple!" said the tallest, a guy with a bandanna, the leader obviously. "Listen you broken-up jerk, you just pass your way and you won't get hurt."  
  
They'd probably have done it, too. Plus, it was the sensible thing to do. But Nate had fought tooth and nail against a crazy Thomas Storm, and refused to be intimidated by three little bums. He didn't budge.  
  
"No. I don't think so." he said calmly, although there was an icy knot in his stomach.  
  
The three teens looked at each other in some surprise. They didn't think a crippled man would stand up to them, that was obvious. They quickly covered it up with a laugh that was somewhat nervous.  
  
"Well, then what are ya gonna do about it? Try to stop us with that cane of yours?" the leader guffawed.  
  
"Well..." he said softly, his eyes flashing. "That's not a bad idea." and with that, he threw his cane.  
  
His arms were used to supporting more weight than they should. Consequently the throw was very strong and very precise. And hit the bullseye, hitting the leader's shoulder. The young thug grasped his arm, crying out in pain. He snarled at the waiting Nate.  
  
"Man, you damn fucking asshole! You're fucking dead, you hear me? You're dead!!"  
  
The detective-like man sneered. "Bla, bla, bla. Small talk. Uncultured, unimpressive. You guys are whimps."  
  
"Damn you! Get him!" came the rageful answer. The two youths immediately ran to him. Using the tricks Jeremy and Alex had drilled into him in an event much like this one, he gauged them.  
  
These guys were quick, but undisciplined. They showed no defense, simply barging in. No telltale signature of any style he could see. These guys were worthless bums, kid trying to act though. And that meant they chose their victims and surprised it, never giving it any chance. That meant they never were in a real fight. And that meant no endurance for pain!  
  
One of them swung at him as soon as he got near. Nate ducked under, rising with an uppercut. It was a crude one - Jer would've clucked his tongue in distaste. But it did the trick. The guy was flung a few steps back, completely groggy. As he though; no endurance, no way to take a shot. These guys WERE whimps.  
  
The other guy barely three steps behind, stopped as his partner was nearly knocked out.That cost him. Nate appraoched him fast, hopping to him with his good leg. The boy reacted by punching him in the gut. McIntyre was too slow, and it connected. However, he had had far worse from Thomas, and he easily fought off the pain, giving an abdominal punch of his own - with greater effects. That youth gagged, lurching forward, and the cripple man gave a swift blow to the guy's temple with his elbow. The teen dropped like a stone. He faced the leader, who still clutched his shoulder.  
  
"So, it seem things have gone around." he stated pleasantly "What are you going to do now?"  
  
"Damn you."  
  
"Oh, just get the hell out of my sight, you weasel. There's no way you can win this."  
  
The bum seemed to consider the situation. His two friends were out of the game, he was facing a man knew could defend himself, and the youth they had been having fun beating up was getting on his feet, probably filled with ill intent. Bandanna man seemed to come to the conclusion that he was in a very dangerous position now. He started to backtrack.  
  
"I'll get you for this, you damn cripple!" he vowed, and ran away, away from Nate.  
  
"Anytime, loser." was the quiet answer. He looked over at the boy that had been in trouble. He looked more roughed up than wounded, and bore only a few bruises. Obviously nothing serious had ben done yet.  
  
"Hey, you okay?" he called. The youth blinked, still somewhat faint on his legs, it seemed. He trudged towards Nate.  
  
"I...I think so, thanks." was the hesitant answer. Nathan nodded.  
  
He went to retrieve his cane, which still lay on the floor of the alley. That in hand, he looked at the two bum. They were stirrring, soon they would be able to cause trouble again. However, Nathan McIntyre had no intention to be anywhere near the alley when that happened. He gestured to the boy.  
  
"C'mon, I'll treat you to a nice soup and coffee, it'll make you feel better. What's your name."  
  
"Ha...Harold."  
  
Nathan smiled. "Well Harold, lets be off. These two goons are starting to get up and I don't want to fight more today. Come."  
  
And with that, the two went out the alley, into the street, and started to walk towards the nearest café. And all the while, something released inside the crippled man. Despite his disadvantage, he had done the right thing and held his own despite his handicap. The fear of being hurt because his leg was crippled was waning, he found.  
  
Area was right. He wasn't inferior to the people that were 'whole' after all. She had believed that. She had been right. That made him love her even more.  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
Another chapter done, and the end of the second phase. I have to tell you that the next phase will certainly be harsher, and that the content will be sometimes hard to read. But' then again' there will be much more action too' and it should only serve to better the entire thread of Will and Fate.  
  
As ever, I crave ideas and feedback! What do you think I should do for the next phase?  
  
See ya!  
  
Jeremy 


	17. Interlude II

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Interlude II  
  
October 6, 1997  
  
The punch caught the young man who called himself Big Bats - but whose real name was Greg - squarely in the face, right on the mouth. It hurt. It hurt a hell of a lot. He felt as if his teeth were are broken up and his mouth spit out warm blood. God, it hurt so bad, he wanted to cry out loud. But he wouldn't. He was a man. Men don't cry, had said his dad. Choking, he thrust his right fist forward in a vicious attack.  
  
It hit nothing. His opponent seemed to melt throught the ait, reappearing a fraction of a second later in another position. But Bats didn't register that fact, for at the same moment he received a knee directly in his stomach. He had strong abs, and he was tense all over, but he might as well never have tried anything, for it penatratated as if his insides were made of jelly instead of muscles. He staggered back, almost cut in two, bile rising to his mouth. Still he wanted to hold on, like a man. His spirit told him so. His stomach, compresssed and lurching, decided it did not agree. His stomach won the argument as he was forced to puke from both the pain and the terror that dwelled inside him.  
  
"Quite gross." sneered his opponent, looking at the smelly mess, fresh as a rose, not the slightest bit winded. Bats knew by now that his opponent was someone whose strength, speed and stamina were far, very far, above his own. And that cracked him up. Opened the shell of arrogance that told him to hang on, and diminished him back to a young man of sixteen, in jeans and leathers, who felt very scared.  
  
"Please..." he said, sniffling slightly, trying to speeak with his swelled mouth. "Please...enough..."  
  
Grey eyes gazed at him coldly, without an hint of mercy. "Hardly enough. You've had this coming for a long while bats. So shut up and take it like the man you think you are." With that he pivoted his mucled, lean body and gave the sniffling boy a kick that sent him crashing into the wall.  
  
"People have tried with you, maggot. They failed." Another kick. He land in the middle of the small street. There he started to sob. That did not calm his opponent, who seemed to get angrier. The voice only responded with contempt and irony.  
  
"Feels bad to get beaten, heg? Feels bad to hurt like that, you little trash?" a very malicious smile. "I know how that feels. Welcome to the club." And with that Bats was kicked again by a powerful, trained leg, slaming into the wall again.  
  
He felt pain everywhere now. His whole body felt like one big bruise. He could barely move at all, much less get back on his feet. He could only look at the one whom, hew now was sure, was ready to kill him here, in this alley. And he horrifyingly knew that person could easily do so.  
  
The man who approached was reasonably tall, had a lean, athletic outlook that said that in that body, all was muscle and not fat. So althought this man looked barely more athletic than a well-trained man his build, Bats knew he had the strength that equaled much bigger foes. He wore green pants, a black tshirt and a dark blue small coat, both sleeveless. The only thing that adorned his arms were great, black fighting gloves, that covered fists all up to the elbows. His hair was brown and short, his eyes had steel grey that held experience and strength. Bats knew who this guy was. He'd met people who bragged to be the real thing, but never seen one, until now  
  
A Street Fighter. Or World Warrior, if one preferred to call these few that. That was why he was dead. He knew he could never beat a World Warrior. Consequently, he sobbed in depair.  
  
And then the other man lifted him up - easily, so damn easily, and held him face to face. Bats could see the grey eyes looking out, blazing with anger and contempt, yes but...but tinged with... sadness? The boy thought he was hallucinating from the fear, giving the guy some more benign intentions for the crude reason he wanted this to happen. But when the man spoke again, there was little anger, just a great weariness and deep sadness.  
  
"Now, Bats." the man began softly. "I hope you're starting to understand how it fee...ukk!"  
  
The fighter let him go, one hand clutching his side in disbelief, where a foot had kicked him. Hard. He was looking toward another person. Bats saw her for a moment. Blond, smaller then the man but extremely athletic, dressed in much the same fashion as the man, except that she wore jeans, her coat was longer and black, and that it had sleeves. She looked at the man angrily, her face beautiful even then, even with the scar that ran down her left cheek. And she had the same feel as the man. Another fighter.  
  
Scared as hell, not wishing to be caught between two people as strong as these two seemed to be, Bats surged to his feet, painfully, and half-ran, half-stumbled in blind panic throught the backstreet. As he put as much distance between he and the fighters, a thought tailed him, inexorable, frightening, and containing a truth that made the violent part of his being pause.  
  
Is this how those I beat up felt?!?  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Mere seconds later...  
  
"Why the FUCK did you do that for?!?" shouted Jeremy, staring crimson into Cammy's equally angry face. She didn't flinch, glaring right back.   
  
"Doing the only decent thing that anyone in my position." she hissed back. "I stopped you from beating a kid to death!"  
  
"To death?!? I NEVER had the intention to..."  
  
"Sure looked like it! What were you doing, then, teaching him to dance?"  
  
Jeremy took a deep breath before he exploded. She didn't know the reasons. No use biting her head off. He'd just have to explain how this wasn't so, how she had stopped something she shouldn't have. Calmly, mildly. Even if he didn't feel like it. Even if he felt betrayed somewhat. Did she really think he actually had FUN beating off that miserable fool? Couldn't she see how much he had pulled his punches, assuring there would be no permanent damage? It seemed not. And that hurt. That hurt a lot. He took another breath, to frame his thoughts.  
  
And then it all went to hell with what she said next. It came in a fast speech, furious, disappointed, bitter. "You know, I always wondered why you always seemed so mild and so controlled in battle. You take out your anger on those who can't stand up to you, just like so many fighters do! That's how you vent the excess energy, huh?"  
  
Jeremy paled at this accusation, feeling as if something had been wrenched from him by force. He tried to speak, a knot forming in his throat. "Cammy...I never...y-you can't mean..."  
  
"Well I can tell you what I think of that, Storm!" she cut in angrily. "I think you looked just like Bison, having some damn fun at beating a weaker guy! You're just like him, only to a smaller scale."  
  
He stood there, numb, receiving those words, feeling each as if they were blows. The lump inside him grew in force, merging with something hot and hard. He couldn't speak, he barely remembered how to breathe. It seemed the world was about to collapse around him. He didn't even think to defend himself at the moment. He suddenly felt he was sixteen again, just before the SCD, void, empty, meaningless. He barely felt the other guy that had come nearer, tentatively. He turned to that third person, slowly, and hazily recognized him. Tall as him, auburn hair, bearded, dressed more sensibly than he.  
  
"Will. Hey." he said slowly, thickly. "How are the kids?"  
  
"They'll be okay. But that was a bloody near thing. If we'd hadn't come when we did, if you hadn't beat Big Bats off..." his voice trailed off.  
  
"Kids?" asked Cammy suddenly. "What are you talking about? Who are you?"  
  
The man thrust out a gloved hand, which she shook. "William Lawhead, Street Counsellor. As for what happened, well, the usual. Two kids had the bad luck torun in to Big Bats, and things might've gone ill, but our little anti-bum weapon, Jeremy, took care of him before things got serious. Its sad, but sometimes the only way to make bums see how much they hurt people is to hurt them."  
  
She looked back at Jeremy, then at William, guilt and confusion slowly replacing the cold anger in her eyes. "Then he didn't...hurt him...for sport?" she asked softly.  
  
"WHAT?!?" The bearded man was clearly incredulous. "By the Queen, no, no, NO! Only roughening him up a bit. Never seen Jeremy here do more than was necessary, and I've seen him for over a year! He's done some good. Gave some good kids some tricks, converted some bad kids. This neighbourhood owes him quite a little bit, ma'am, it does!"  
  
"Will, could you leave us be for a moment?" asked Jeremy, still slowly, still thickly. The man looked back and forth between the two SCD agents, considering. Realising he was in the middle of a delicate situation,the street counsellor wisely nodded, telling he be farther up the street if he was needed. The young man barely nodded, still lost inwardly.  
  
The silence was heavy, as both searched for the right words, the right feeling. Cammy shifted, looking at him sometimes, sometimes looking at William's retreating figure. Finally she coughed hesitantly.  
  
"Jer...I..."  
  
"You compared me to Bison." he said, his voice dead. "Compared my actions to his, my feelings to his." his voice started to rise. "Did Bison ever pull his punches? Did Bison ever try to help kids who are forgotten by our oh-so benevolent government? DID BISON EVER CARE AT ALL BESIDE HIS ROTTEN, WORTHLESS SELF?!?"  
  
"I..I'm sorry." she said, her voice lacking strength. Jeremy barely heard her.  
  
"For the past months, we've helped you. Giorgio, Mark, Micheal, Joan and me. Me most of all, dammit. I gave you support, I gave you all the help I could. I supported your rising selfishness as long as I could. No more." his eyes stared at her angrily, "And all the while for the last six weeks you've dismissed my ideas, interrupted me, treated me like dirt. Well, hell! I come from a pretty prideful family, and one that dislikes these treatments. What have I done to you..." he choked, and he could feel tears in his eyes as he spoke. "...to deserve that spite?"  
  
He turned away, his moment of grief battling his anger, and forced a cold exterior. He had seen her look - a grieving expression, but one that could not patch up what she'd said. His pride wouldn't allow it, not yet. He squared his shoulders, and spoke gravely.  
  
"Well, I guess that's it. If you can't trust me then I can't trust you. Tomorrow I'll ask Briby to find me a new partner. I heard Micheal's solo right now, maybe I'll be with him. Go back and get yourself screwed by Bison for all I care." he said the last archly, and even thought his back was turned, he heard her intake of breath, felt how deeply his last sentence had hurt. Beyond his hurt and anger, he felt ashamed of himself. Still he kept his cold stance. "Leave, now."  
  
He felt her shift, felt an hesitant hand on his back. "Please don't...I...I need..." she stammered.  
  
And that was it. At that very moment, three weeks of frustration, of being bossed off, of being treated like an inferior agent by someone whom he cared about, came crashing down on him. His mind became filled with pent-up rage, and he acted on that moment. The dam had burst. The anger was flowing out.  
  
He turned around, and before she could do anything, his fist lashed out, in one burst of concentrated emotions.  
  
"LEAVE!!!!!!!" he screamed.  
  
The fist caught her on the cheek, flinging her a good ten feet back ward. She slumped there, and for a while did not move, clutching her face in disbelief. As for Jeremy, this action had drained almost all the anger he felt, and he stared at his own fist in horror, as if it had changed into a snake. He'd gone too far. He knew it. He'd gone too far.  
  
Damn it you idiot, what have you DONE!?! he screamed mentally. You can't leave things like this. She'll think you really hate her! Go apologize, hold her, kiss her, I don't know! Just don't let it go at that!!!  
  
But he didn't act. Whether it was shock or what remained of his anger, he couldn't tell. But he just stood there as she came to her feet, looking at him with an unreadable expression, of which only the tears that flowed from her eyes indicated what she felt. She looked at him, choked twice, but finally spoke in a barely quavering voice.  
  
"Okay. I'll leave." and she turned and walked away.  
  
He wanted to stop her. Wanted to reach out for her, to explain somehow. But he held back. And so she left. He had lost her now.  
  
And he felt his heart break all over again.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The day after...  
  
"Master Bison. The monitor cyborg sent to investigate Cammy has sent back something that I think you will find most interesting."  
  
Bison looked at his agent's face on the screen of his personal video feed in complete impassivity. "Indeed? Show me this 'interesting' information." it wasn't an invitation, it was a command, pure and simple. And the man took it as such. The agent's face was soon replaced by a video. It did not last long, but the farther it went, the more pleased Bison seemed to become.  
  
He was watching a video feed that came from the top of a building in London, zoomed in so that the recorded incident be plain to see. On it, that ex-doll of his, Cammy White, was having an argument with the man she had seemed to be getting closer to. It wasn't a very nice or clean argument, and both had expressions that satisfied Bison.  
  
Then he saw him punch her. In hatred, and anger and grief. It truly was a marvelous thing to watch. The separation of these two left her without the support she needed from the SCD. None of the others truly believed in Cammy, or liked her enough, to want to risk themselves for her. This man - what was that name, Stoor, Storem?, no matter - seemed to be the only one who had a true attachment to her.  
  
And now that little pillar was gone, perhaps temporarily, perhaps forever. It did not matter to the Master of Shadowlaw. All he remembered was the fact that she had defied his power, and that he would have to punish her for it. Greatly. No one escapes Bison's complete control. She would learn that, and she would break to his will.  
  
He was about to make sure of that. "I think I should go stretch my legs somewhat." he said to no one in particular. "And England is such a nice country to visit, when it doesn't rain there." he laughed outloud then, a short barking sound that would have frozen the marrow out of any sane man. He then looked at the video of Cammy, with her devastated expression.  
  
"Yes, doll. Very soon, we shall meet again!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
"You noticed, amigos?"  
  
"Aye, how could I not, with all their moping around."  
  
"Still, I suppose they will mend their ways sooner or later, mates."  
  
Three men were gathered at a table in a café in London. One was Giorgio Castillo, another Mark Culhen and the last Michael Veingrad, his long, ponytailed strawberry hair tucked under the neat leather coat that he always wore. To see him, arranged in a black turtleneck, jeans and leather coat, one could never have guessed the Australian who descended from a small german family was the strictest man in the entire SCD, and most probably the best marksman in the entire British Commonwealth. Yet, for all his apparent coldness, he was as concerned about his friend and his partner as they were.  
  
And they had a right to be. For the past three days, Jeremy and Cammy had gone to great lengths to avoid each other, and when they had to talk with each other, they did so with cold professionalism. They did not know what had happened between the two, except for the fact that Cammy had a red mark on her face ever since the coldness had set in. Although they couldn't believe that someonelike Jeremy would hit anyone without a good reason, they agreed he was one of the few skilled and and strong enough to hit the blond woman like that. It really seemed like it was the end between these two.  
  
Still, sometimes there were looks given by one when the other wasn't looking. A look of hurt and grief, quickly masked. The others had watched this for three days, and the three men had decided that enough was enough.  
  
"They still care for each other, that's plain." said Micheal.  
  
"Aye, but there's something that's preventing them from patching up the wound. If they don't patch it soo, the wound will fester, and something will die." mused the scottish.  
  
Giorgio growled. "Enough. I'll talk to him this week. Its poisonning them both and that's unhealthy, dios!"  
  
Michael raised a brow "And what about Cammy?" to their blank looks, he expanded. "Its fine to see Jeremy and all, but what about her, mates? Do we let her in that grief."  
  
A moment of uneasy silence followed. They respected Cammy, but did not know her enough yet to know how to act around her. Add to that the fact that she had been having strange rises of temper lately, and the situation was that much more peculiar.   
  
Finally Mark smiled. "I think I have an idea. Let's get someone to look after her for a little while...secretely."  
  
"Look after her?" asked Giorgio curiously. "Whom?"  
  
Mark's smile widened. "I know exactly who."  
  
_________________________________________________________  
  
Here it is! The interlude that closes the second phase and paves the way to the third! So, I deas on what should happen? Stay tuned for Chapter 15!  
  
And, yes, as always, Ideas and Feedback are welcome!  
  
Jeremy 


	18. Chapter 15

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 15  
  
September 21, 1997  
  
A week. It had been a week since two young people, angry, said and did things they didn't mean. It hadn't been a comfortable week, even thought there were no assignments form them yet and that they could relax. The atmosphere was all but relaxed in London's SCD HQ, especially in the working room of their elite members. Cammy was well aware of just how much she felt about it. The last week had given her a lot to think about and time to think. And she had come to drastic conclusions.  
  
The first was that Jeremy had been right about her being bossy, cutting him off and overriding him ceaselessly. She had never realized it. The memories that she had from before Shadowlaw - still hazy, these - and from what she read from her files showed that she had been like this before. She always spoke her mind, uncaring if others were in the middle of a sentence. Impulsive. Fiery. These words had been in my reports of the now-defunct leader of the Recon Division Five. She was starting to act out like that again.  
  
But he was wrong, so wrong, when he said that what he had to say meant nothing to her. They meant much. Very much! He was bright and wiser than he often gave himself credit for, and he often came up with astute observations, whether they were about fights, politics, or simply about the best way to eat rice. She couldn't help but smile. Ibuki and he had gotten into a polite but intense clash about the very subject. They were so serious about it, one might not have believed that the subject was so silly. No, what he said ALWAYS meant something to her.  
  
Which brought her to the core of the problem. What, exactly, did she feel about him? She was certain, at first, that it was a form of friendship, or at least a deep respect. That she soon found to be wrong, when she thought about it. Ever since that time in Ireland, it had seemed to her that his voice had gained something undefinable, that made it undearing. Everytime he turned his intelligent, steel-gray eyes on her, she felt the urge to smile. It made her happy. But what shocked her was something she realized only after the 'incident' with him.  
  
Ever since Shadowlaw, and the terrifying memories she had of it, she couldn't stand men touching her, in any way. Oh, she nver let it show - her pride never would have allowed it. But everytime a man, even a trustworthy comrade like Steve or Giorgio gave her a friendly or teasing pat - on the head, the arm, the place mattered little - she felt a tremor of fear, and in the back of her head, a very small voice, an echo of the painful memories, cried 'No...please... don't hurt me again.' She was completely terrified of being touched.  
  
But not with Jeremy.  
  
The few times Jeremy had actually touched her - a slap on the back, a hand grasping her shoulder in a friendly fashion - she had felt no tremor, no voice. It hadn't really struck her until then, but whereas she shied away from thinking about men as a rule, she sometimes caught herself thinking strange thoughts like 'I wonder how it would feel to kiss him?' or 'He looks so cute!' These thought she attempted to squash flat, but they stubbornly refused, drifting back from time to time. And it came down to something very clear: she didn't just LIKE the young Storm.  
  
"Could I possibly be in LOVE with him?" she thought outloud, softly. She felt dazed about it, but found the idea had appeal.  
  
"If ol' Jer's the 'him' in that sentence, I'm gonna have to tell you its about time you figured that out." stated a light, melodious voice.  
  
"Nemmi. Didn't realise I spoke that loud." said Cammy, a little flustered about the whole thing.  
  
"You didn't But you've been looking intense and in the midst of a great revelation, and I eaves dropped." the woman retorted. She then snickered. "And all to learn that you've only figured out you love Jer. I'd laugh if I could."  
  
From anyone else, the braided woman wouldn't have taken that critic. However, Nemmi Shiwasa never held her tongue about private things, and so she had to live with it. Young, only eighteen, she'd been taken into the SCD by Micheal, her unofficial mentor, only four months after Jeremy had been brought by Steve from his terrible personal ordeal. She herself hadn't been brought because of her fighting skills - even after two years, she was average at best - but because she was a magnificient marksman. As she was a woman living in a foster home she rather disliked, she had readily accepted the great gunslinger's offer to join the SCD. There she had spent the next three months mooning over Jeremy, who was only five months her senior.   
  
Maybe that was the reason for what she spoke next, with just a little hint of jealousy. "Three months I stuck to him like glue, and he was so buried under his grief, I probably could have stripped in front of him and gotten nothing more then raised eyebrows. But you, just hint that you're in the room and he's off in Heaven!"  
  
"I...I don't think I'm having that kind of effect on him." Cammy stuttered. Suddenly the young Chinese looked cross."  
  
"Aww, shoot!" she growled. "Maybe you've been blind to it all, but WE haven't! We've seen his face, the way he smiled when he thought about you. We all were bright enough to tell that he had the hots for you!"  
  
"What?!?"  
  
"Buddah! Do I have to spell it out for you? He loves you. L-O-V-E. Four letters. Very simple word. And before you even ASK, can tell you that its been a while longer that he's realised it."  
  
To say that Cammy was stunned, at this point, would be like calling the ocean a lake. She was beyond words. Jeremy LOVED her? That couldn't be, right? How could he love someone who ignored him the first half he's known her, and stepped over him the other half? It was impossible. A guy like that could be dating nonstop, if he only dared to show his face at a disco or the like. Love her? No. Couldn't be. And even if it REMOTELY was possible...  
  
"I don't think he even LIKES me anymore, after what happened." she said sadly.  
  
The young asian looked at her with a grave expression, as if she was deciding whether to continue talking or pass her way and let the conversation drop. Cammy hoped for the latter, and was somewhat disappointed when the former came about. What she said surprised her.  
  
"Nah. He still loves you. He's just sad. And guilty. Very guilty."  
  
Without thinking, the braided, athlectic SCD brought her hand and rubbed the place where HIS fist had connected, and had struck her to her soul. A quick gesture, but not one that could escape the quick eyes of a marswoman like Nemmi. The asian's eyes widened.  
  
"OH, BUDDAH, GOD AND JESUS! He's the one who gave you that mark?!? But why?!?" she was fairly screeching by now. "What happened back then? Oh, when I get my hands on that man..."  
  
"No, its not really his fault." she cut in, knowing she was again cutting off someone and this time not caring. "I...I think I'll go home and...and think this all over." she stood up from her desk, while Nemmi looked at her with blinking black eyes.  
  
"But, can't you at least tell me..."  
  
"No." she didn't want to talk about it. She had other things on her mind. Very confusing things. She left deskroom without a backward glance. On her way she passed two SCD grunts. Not elite these. Just soldiers attached to the organisation. They gave a salute and let her pass through. If they saw her distraught expression, they said nothing about it. After all, it wasn't their job. She wouldn't have answered anyway.  
  
'He loved me. Not anymore. And its all my fault.'  
  
She didn't know what to do anymore. She cared about him, she was sure of it, but now, how to tell him.  
  
'I had the chance to find someone who understood. And I blew it. Completely blew it. Now he hates me, thinks I consider him worthless. He'd prefer if Bison had me still, I'm sure.'  
  
She felt the tears a while after she left Headquarters. How long they were there, she didn't know. Didn't care. For she had found out about something else.  
  
She found that, ever since he hit her, she had always been crying...in her heart.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same time...  
  
"Do you still like blueberry pancakes?"  
  
"What does that have to do with what we are discussing?"  
  
"Nothing at all. But just answer, for now."  
  
"Well...yes."  
  
"Good! Then blueberry pancakes it will be today, Marcel. With the usual standard."  
  
This conversation was held at the private dining room where many coferences had been held by Irish politicians and the powerful people of Limerick. At the dining room table - a rectanglar, rich oak thing - seven men sat. All were high members of the Circle in Limerick, directly below Everick and, of course, Kale, who had just transgressed the reunion to have the little talk about pancakes. No one would have faulted their young leader, of course. Those who did often got a very unpleasant, very lethal dispositions afterwards.  
  
The chef bowed and left, and Kale's smiling face - he always seemed to be smiling about something - once again fixed the assembled men. "Well, now, where were we?"  
  
A Circle member, a hard-faced man of late thirties, coughed slightly. "Err...I was saying, milord, that attacking SCD may have severe repercussions on our status. The Elders may disapprove, and if they do..."  
  
"They will not if we are successful." Everick interjected. The five other men squirmed in their seats when he passed his stony gaze upon them. For a while no one dared speak.  
  
"Yes, but, milord, the SCD are rumored to have within their personel, an Elite sub-division that could hinder our raid greatly." That from another member, a small, slim woman with hawkish features.   
  
Kale lay back, his smile not faltering a second, his demeanor as calm and amused as it ever was. He seemed not to make anything of his subordinate's comment, and that did not displease those assembled. He scratched his chin in seeming thought, then faced the woman squarely, with an ever-widening smile.  
  
"Tell me, fair Querra, " he asked pleasantly "Are you of the opinion that I'm being...reckless?"  
  
Everyone around the table - even Everick - held their breath at that, while the young woman became pale. Although he presented a pleasant exterior, they all knew Kale possessed great ruthlessness, and had a very marked taste for slaughter. He kept these pulsions in check, but the few examples of them gave those at this table more than enough reasons to fear an outburst. Querra, although cold and ruthless herself, seemed to shrink back under the close watch of the merry eyes that hid all of their true feelings.  
  
"I...milord...I w-would never..." she stammered.  
  
"Of course not!" was the joyous reply "I know no one here would dare think that." He stopped then, pausing to make his point. "Now, Astheril, are the forces ready?"  
  
"Just about, milord." the smaller lord seemed to hesitate. "However, I must say that a the present time, the SCD that are present in London are far too strong to."  
  
"Ah, my friends, such gloom! Worry not! Even now, one works to weaken these very SCD you all fear so much. When the time is right will we attack, not before then."  
  
"And how will that be?" asked Everick, the only one who seemed utterly calm in the group. Not surprising, as the two leaders were friends.  
  
"You will know. The person I talk about will tell us."  
  
He looked at the assembled high-ups that ran the workings of Limerick and other holdings, encompassing the whole room with a gaze that was more spellbinding that amused. A glint of purple shimmered in his eyes.  
  
"Do trust me on this," he stated softly, his smile gone for a single moment. "As you always should."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Twenty minutes later...  
  
There were situations that Jeremy Storm didn't like. There were others he actually abhorred. Unfortunately, he reflected as he looked at the faces of Nemmi, Giogio and Joan, he seemed to be squarely into the latter category. What was worse, he knew why they looked at him in such displeased way, and the honest part of his self couldn't find fault with them, annoying as they seemed to be. So he sat at his desk and waited for the firing squad to open fire.  
  
Nemmi, who had an attitude even more abrasive than the defunct Cindy, thrust forward first. "I think its about time we had a talk about this, Jer."  
  
"About what?" he asked, even though he knew quite well. Not the thing to say, he realised, as the three persons in front and around him seemed to grow more tense, and colder as well. This wasn't about to be fun.  
  
"You KNOW what!" the asian fairly screeched "We have to make you se that its about time that you guys buried the hatchet on whatever happened a week ago!" The older agents nodded at that.  
  
Jeremy nodded himself. "I'll be willing to bury it if she comes and apologises. Not before."  
  
Joan, in her all-wise way, shook her fair head. "That won't happen. It would be better if you opened up first and started the healing by apologising for whatever happened."  
  
Jeremy gritted his teeth, his fists balls of tensions that were demanding release. He had to talk. Of course. Whenever something when even the slightest bit wrong between the two of them, it had to be him who had to apologise. He supposed it was fair, up to a point. Or at least it was when she had no hands on her emotions. However, she had emotions now. He was starting to be fed up being a second rate nanny to someone who had spent two months looking for something that made him look like a man feared and hated.  
  
"No." he stated "She started this whole mess, let her make the first step. That is the order of things."  
  
Giorgio huffed at this, spreading his athletic arms. "Oh, madre de dio! Desperto, nino!" he growled, switching to his native spanish in his irritation. "That girl won't even try to talk to you. She doesn't know how!"  
  
"She's no child! She can certainly trudge her ass her and say 'I'm sorry'!" he retorted hotly.  
  
Joan brought her hands down on the desk in impatience, making the others start. She had a dark look on that face of hers, which did not bode well. "Jer, you know she's not used enough with those emotions to know the right way to say something like this. Right now she feels lost, alone. Its understandable when someone like her feels betrayed." The last touch was said with an hint of accusation.  
  
Jeremy's grey eyes flashed in anger. "Betrayed? I'M not the one who compared her to Bison!" he growled fiercely. "You guys just don't know what your talking about!"  
  
"Then tell us! Tell us what happened back there, in Buddah's name!" cried a frustrated Nemmi.  
  
"FINE! I'll tell you! Then I do hope you'll have the decency to leave me to what's my own damn business!" And he told them.  
  
It was harder than he thought, as he knew he had acted badly in his own way. He told about the fight with the punk, the unwitting intervention on Cammy's part, his attempts to explain, and her terrible, heart-shattering accusation. Then the social worker's arrival, departure, the coldness that was installed afterwards and finally - and hardest of all - the punch that he had used to push her away. God, how it hurt! He never meant to hit her, but her words, her words, had been like acid, destroying his reason for a while.  
  
He looked away as he finished. "So, there. Now you know. What's the use, guys? Why should I go apologise to someone who never thought me anything more than a dumb thug, someone who compared me to Bison!"  
  
All he received in answer was a sound, if not harmful, whack on the head. He looked up in surprise and indignation at a Giorgio that seemed caught between anger, amusement and exasperation.  
  
"Amigo, I thought a lot of things of you when you came here, and some wound up to be true. But I've never thought you an idioto and at that I was right. Don't start proving me wrong."  
  
"Oh, get outta town, Giorgio! You weren't there! You didn't hear her spout that nonsense. She had no reason to say that!!!"  
  
"Agreed. And were you any different with what you did?" interjected Joan coldly.  
  
That made him pause for a moment. Fact was, he DID think his last act went a little overboard, and did not belong to his set of morals. Strange, when you thought about it. Giorgio had killed many times for the organizations he worked for, as had Nemmi here, and Michael had done many assassinations for the English governments. That didn't mean these people, and the other soldiers who worked her, were bad, but they weren't angels, either, when the situation called. Why were they so concerned about a little tap. The thought made Jeremy angry.  
  
"Oh, don't start with that. Its not like I killed her. I only gave her something back for months of verbal abuse!" he was starting to spout nonsense, he knew. Verbal abuse? Where did THAT tidbit come from? The others didn't seem to be convinced by his latest argument. He couldn't entirely blame them.  
  
It was Nemmi who pounced next. "You are the truest version of a baka I've ever seen. Don't you see that she loves you?!?" she cried in frustration.  
  
That was when he laughed.  
  
It wasn't an happy laugh, for the laughter didn't reach the eyes, which were still locked in their angry mien. It was fierce an outburst, filled with anger and bitterness, and a deep sadness that only a fool wouldn't feel. He stood up while he laughed, giving them all a glare, and managed to get it under control, minimizing it to a few chuckles. While he did this, he grabbed the dictionary that he used to write complicated reports, opened it, and flipped the sheets almost savagely until he came to a certain place. Getting his throat and voice under control, he spoke softly, filled with tension.  
  
"Love, " he read. "n.v. loved, loving. One: a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person, especially when based on sexual attraction. Two: a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection. Three: a person towards whom love is felt. Four...oh the hell with that." he gave a sickly, victorious smile to the other three agents. "I'm sorry but I've never seen anything from her, ANYTHING, that ressembles that description!" he slammed the dictionary shut.  
  
Joan shook her head. "Jer..."  
  
"Was nice talking to you guys. No I've got some things to discuss with Mark." he turned to go, but was stopped by Giorgio's strong hand on his shoulder. He turned back to stare coldly. "Don't Giorgio. Don't pick a fight. You'll lose."  
  
"Even so, I can't let you walk away from this." was the even reply.  
  
Both men were tense, ready to snap, and a fight migh have ensued, if Joan hadn't come between them.  
  
"That's enough of that male toughness! Jer, you're right: she doesn't show you any of that. But I'll tell you what she DOES. She lets you near her, something she almost never lets us do. She's never asked for another partner, never complained. And I've seen her SMILE at you. She's never done THAT to anyone else but you. Surely you must realise that!"  
  
Silence. He was finding himself without words again. And she wasn't done with him yet, but continued in an earnest voice.  
  
"I'm not asking you to forgive what she said, Jer. I'm just asking you to go talk to her. Please. I know you care for her. You don't hate her, you're just hurt. Please. She needs you."  
  
Still the same silence. With a jerk, he disengaged his shoulder from Giorgio's now relaxed arm. He was angry still, but also amused somewhat. Trust Joan to find the right words, the right reasons. Damn her for seeing throught to him. Damn her for forcing him into something he didn't feel ready for yet.  
  
Damn her for being right.  
  
He gave weak smile. "Fine, fine, doctor. I can see why you're the psychologist here. I'll go talk to her, but I promise nothing. Now, I've got things to do." with that, he left, without looking back. He wasn't stopped. He knew that the decision was the right one. This couldn't go on. It simply couldn't.  
  
But he'd be damned if he knew what he could say to change the situation.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Ten minutes later...  
  
The walk to her appartment was a lonely one. Strange, but she never realised that before. What reason could she have? It was the same road she had always taken, almost always alone at that. A few times, yes, Jeremy had tagged along when they had to go somewhere right after that, or when he had to tell her something he had forgotten about. A very few times Joan had been with her, and Giorgio had walked her once after an especially tiring mission. She had never figured the trip as a lonely one. Now she did. What was up with that?  
  
Was she so addled, her wits so mazed, that she was tinging everything with fatalism now?  
  
She couldn't say, except that she had a lot tothink about, and that she would be better doing it at her appartment. That particular building, a four-storied, grey-bricked thing, was looming a few hundred feet away, surrounded by other places of the same type. Jeremy had called places like these 'mass-living areas' and it didn't look as thought he was joking when he said it, even though his tone was light. He lived in another appartment, a bigger one. That was because, if memory served, that he had received the money his parents had left as an inheritance when he turned eighteen. It was 'a tidy sum' as he said, but never elaborated further. He seemed to receive the money with mixed feelings.  
  
"I'm glad that my folks left me something to remember them by." she'd heard him explain to Mark once. "But I would have much prefered not to get the money, and have real parents, no pictures and other people's memories of them" Mark had told him he was quite right, and she had wanted to say the same, but didn't.  
  
She sighed as she entered the building, trudging to the elevator that would take her to the fourth story, where she lived. It always somehow came to something she didn't say to the guy, and the feeling of guilt that became stronger and stronger each time. She still wasn't sure she loved him - heck, she wasn't yet sure of what she felt at all. She just knew that he meant something, something important, and that she had unwittingly removed that from her own existence.  
  
'If you'd just waited for a damn explanation, none of this would have happened!' a voice said in her mind, and she couldn't deny the truth in that.  
  
The elevator reached her level, and she walked over to her door, intent now on taking a shower, and then calling her partner to sort this out. She didn't know what she felt, that was true, but she couldn't deny the fact that they made a terrific team. He with the street knowledge, she with the military knowledge, they could take on just about anything. Yes, it would be foolish to dissolve their partnership, when it worked out so well.  
  
She put her key into the lock and entered, intent on her trail of thinking. That was probably why, when faint alarm bells started to go off instinctively in her head, she was slow to understand and react. Something was wrong with the feel of the place. Something dangerous was in the air, but her instaincts were slightly dulled. That was why, when she was trust firmly forward by someone, she stumbled before regaining control. As the door slammed behind her, she whirled angrily and took a fierce fighting stance.   
  
In front of her stood a rather beautiful woamn with short brown hair and eyes, dressed in a strange, black, woolen bodysuit that left her legs - well-muscled, athletic - bare. The woman made no sign that she was about to attack. In fact, she showed no sign of being about to do ANYTHING! She just stood there, like a...  
  
...like a DOLL.  
  
That's when she noticed the complete, utter blankness in the stranger's eyes. A blankness she knew well. After all, she seen enough tapes of the days following her caputure, had enough hazy memories, to remember that she had once had the very same robot-like expression. She then knew who that girl was, and what she was here for. And she felt terribly scared.  
  
"You're one of Bison's zombie pawns, just like I was." she stated to the Shadowlaw agent.  
  
The zombie then spoke. "Surrender, Cammy White. Failure to do so immediately would entail a capture by force that would cause significant physical damage."  
  
"Advise quickly and answer, said another woman's voice, Lighter, different a voice. But just as unemotional as the first. Cammy wasn't surprised by the newest arrival. She'd been assuming someone else would be there, that Bison wouldn't pit just one fighter against her. After all, one alone could fail; two had less chances of coming up short. All logical, as devoid of hope as it seemed. She shot a look at the other drone: much the same, except she had short blond hair instead of brown.   
  
She forced a grim smile to appear on her face. No way was she going out quaking and afraid. "And what happens if I surrender?" she spat the last word.  
  
"Then there will be no physical damage done to yourself." was the statement, as if they were talking about the best way to cook potatoes. She almost laughed at how simple she made it sound. And how totally untrue it was. No physical damage if she surrendered?  
  
"You must truly be zombies..." she started, then pivoted her legs, jerked upward, over the blonde snapped her foot in midair, hitting the wall and altering her trajectory, so that in barely two or three seconds she was out of the entry way and into the living room. "...if you can believe that SHIT!" she finished with growl, taking her fighting stance. The unemotional near-twins looked at each other for a moment, then stepped into the living room.  
  
"Target has decided to resist. Agent Juli assuming offensive posture." said the brown-haired one.  
  
"Acknowledged. Agent Juni assuming offensive posture." stated the blond drone a second later. Both then assumed a position that seemed deadly, all business, and decidedly familiar to Cammy. It took a moment for her mind to catch up with the fast-paced events and give her the info.  
  
'It should seem familiar. It closely follows my personal style.' She reflected. What had Bison done with these girls? And then she had no more time to think much, as the two attacked, silmultaneously, from different angles.  
  
She met the first attack head-on, blocking a quick series of punches and kicks, beating off the attack only to have to fight off another. Juli came at her with a dropkick, which she dodged, giving an elbow shot to the drone's face before she recovered. As her first adversary went roling away, Juni came with a quick kick directed at her abdomen. Instinct took over at that moment, forcing her legs to make a short jump the made her enemy's foot miss by mer inches. Then she swung her leg around, catching the blond zombie in the ribs. Juni stepped back with a slight wheeze, Cammy landed on her feet again. She turned away from her momentarily difused second opponent, turning back to the first.  
  
She had barely the time to duck the punch, and could do nothing but gasp in pain as the second connected squarely. She gave an uppercut to disengage herself, fliped back ward, near the livingroom couch. Around her, she saw that they'd already broken the television and the two vases she had in their first spat of fighting. She had never noticed.  
  
What she had noticed, she realised more fully as her two adversaries regarded her in silence. No emotions at all. There didn't seem to be a Presence inside of them, or if there was, it in no way allowed them to expresss emotions or pain, unlike how it had been with her. Perhaps Bison had fine-tuned the 'programming'. One more reason to fight with all she had. As for she, she felt like she was fighting training dummies, for all the response she received. Yes, very quick, very dangerous dummies. That's what they were..  
  
They attacked again, just as flawlessly and just as quickly as before. She exchanged blows with Juli and Juni consecutively, then ducked as the brown-haired drone slashed at her neck. She gathered her chi quickly, flipping and thrusting upward in one powerful move.  
  
"CANNON SPIKE!"  
  
The force of the chi-driven attack caught the woman squarely, and nearly ramed her throught the ceiling. She fell like a stone, hitting the floor with a thudding sound. The SCD agent came back on her feet within a moment, and received an attack by Juni. Barely, she managed to fight it off. The myriad of blows she had received thus far were taking their toll, even with all her adrenaline pumping like crazy. The attack she had just summoned had just added to the strain. But she wouldn't give up, not now. She could manage this battle yet, with one opponent down, hope for victory remained. Sh gathered her strength, tensed her legs, and sprang forward, one arm prtoecting the front, the other ready to strike from below.  
  
As she did so, Juni crossed her arms and closed her eyes, as if she was concentrating. As the braided agent neared, she opened them again.  
  
"Mach Slide." she whispered, and disappeared disappeared right at that moment. Cammy was caught of guard, and her attack carried her too far, making her stumble for a moment.  
  
"Teleportation!" she cried, stunned by this turned of events. She found her feet, whipped around...  
  
"EARTH DIRECT!"  
  
Her ribcage seemed to be crushed for a moment as this attack connected, smashing her against the wall. She felt as if her chest was on fire, and she gagged, falling backward, finally finding herself at a kneeling position. She forced herself to breathe, no matter how hard it seemed, no matter how terrible the hurt. She couldn't allow herself to pass out, not now, not after making it this far. From her dazed eyes, she saw Juni jumping up and forward, carrying a jump attack. In despair, she reached deep within herself, bringing forward all the energy, the chi, and the adrenaline, and lunched herself upward in a last ditch attack.  
  
"CANNON REVENGE!!"  
  
Two attacks met and grappled for a single moment, sending back shockwaves the cracked the walls and made the windows explode outward. But it was Juni who suffered the worst of the impact, and when both combattants fell to the floor, she barely managed to get back on her feet. Cammy wasn't faring much better, however. Her feet seemed frozen, her chest still felt like a hot zone, and her fists shook. Still she wouldn't go down. Not before the damn drone did. She surged forward, and punched her in the face. Not much of a punch.  
  
But enough. Juni fell as well. She looked at her surroundings as she panted, nearly broken, dazed. Crack and tears in the walls. Windows gone. Ceinling smashed. Furninture turned to itsy-bitsy wooden things. Yep, the living room was trashed. She nearly fell once, and finally had to lean against a cracked wall to regain the breath that seemed so long in coming.  
  
"What the BLOODY HELL happened here?!?" came a voice that seemed both awed and horrified. She looked at a middle-aged man who had just entered. Vaguely she remembered him as a neighbour. He was gaping around as if he couldn't believe what was happening. She jerked away from the wall.  
  
"Shadowlaw happened." she panted. He finally realised she was standing here.  
  
"Dear God! Are you alright, lady?" he said as he started to come to her aid.  
  
She nodded wearily, trying to banish all of her aches. "I...hff...I've seen better days but...hff...if you could just phone at the number..hff...I'll give you, I..." she stopped as she realised the man wasn't approaching her anymore, but was instead regarding her with an intense expression that held both surprise and fear.  
  
No. That wasn't it. He wasn't looking at HER. He was looking behind her, OVER her head. She turned around, dreading what she'd found, already knowing. She stared upward.  
  
Right into Bison's wickedly satisfied face. She took a few steps back ward in terror, before forcing herself to stop. The Lord of Shadowlaw seemed not to notice, instead passing a cursory glance at the damage that surrounded them, before staring at her again.  
  
"Hello, Cammy. It has been a long time. I am glad to see your skills haven't diminished."  
  
"Damn you...hff...Bison." she eyed the other man, who seemed to be stuck into the ground. "Leave, you bloody fool! NOW!!!" she shouted. The fierceness of her call seemed to penetrate, and the guy backstepped, reluctantly, but more and more quickly. Bison never even looked once at the guy. He wasn't interested one bit. Cammy knew it was because he felt the man too far beneath him and, up to a point, he was right.  
  
Strange. After all the adrenaline, all the fear, she wasn't able to be afraid of this. Or perhaps she was so numb with it that she didn't feel it anymore. All she felt was void that was growing inside of her. Was it hopelessness? She couldn't belive it was. Absolutely refused it, and filled the void part of her spirit with rage, with determination.  
  
"These two who...hff.. attacked me. They were...just a show for to...enjoy, h-huh?" she said, trying to regain her damnable breath."  
  
"Of course!" he said, with a very cruel smile. "And a nice show it was! I was highly entertained by it all!"  
  
"Glad you were. So, here to kill me? Go ahead and be done with it." she breathed.  
  
Bison then threw back his head and laughed. A booming thing, devoid of compassion and genuine mirth, it filled the room, and made her blood turn to ice.  
  
"Kill you! Ah, I'd forgotten how entertaining you could be my dear! Kill you! But I would never do that. See how you beat my two dolls here? Why should I kill you. No, Cammy, I am not here to kill you." he smiled, a twisted stirring of lips. "I intend to take you back where you belong. At my side."  
  
The blond woman froze, and everything within her filled with terror. Back? Back there?!? No, nonono! Images formed in her mind, visions of pain, of captivity, of mindless obedience. No! It had been all she could do to see past it, to try to live past it! She wouldn't survive this again! Not again!  
  
"NO!!!" she screamed, and threw a punch at the man that she feared from the very bottom of her soul. He caught her fist, easily, and put a hand on her head.  
  
"Of course, my dear, I can't let you back without punishing for daring to defy my power. I can't have that!"  
  
And with that, fierce, purplish energy shot from his hands, entering through her fist and head, suffusing her entire body in agaony, a thousand times worse than anything the two drones had done to her. She screamed, her despair being heard along with her pain, and she felt herself falling downward towards darkness.  
  
"No...n-not...agai..." she managed, before she lost control of her voice.  
  
From far away, there came a victorious laugh.  
  
Then all was darkness, peaceful and sweet.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Thirty minutes later...  
  
'At least it doesn't rain.'  
  
That was what incongruously came through Jeremy's mind as he grumpily made his way to Cammy's appartment building. He was grumpy because he had been essentially pressured into going there, but also because he DID want to make things better and, sadly, hadn't the slightest clue on how to go about doing that.  
  
How to do it? An apology for that tap he'd given was, of course, in order. But how to apologise without she dismissing him, taking the comment as a fake, a threat or as a sick joke. After all, he'd never been very good at apologising for his actions. Had been remarquably mediocre at it, to be precise.  
  
Sigh. Life was cruel. He'd apologise and probably botch the whole thing up, making things worse in the process. But he had to give it a try.  
  
'Maybe I should just confess that I love her and be done with that', he griped silently, fully knowing how stupid he'd sound by saying "Cammy, I hit you but in truth I love you." No only would that fail to convince her, it might trigger another flare of temper, which was the last thing he needed. No, he'd have to bridge the throbbing gap between them before daring such a ouverture - if he ever dared it.  
  
He saw the police cars that were stationed in front of his destination and regarded them with surprise, what could have happened. This was supposed to be a quiet neighbourhood, if a little rough. There were a few people there, and an agitated man was having what could only be a heated conversation with one of the policemen. His interest piqued, he slithered closer.  
  
Although Julia could have come so close to them that she could have actually taken part on the situation, Jeremy only managed to get within a bare earshot. The man was speaking, and it was a strain to hear anything.  
  
"...possible...strong...cracks...wall...couldn't believe..."  
  
He sighed. This really wasn't telling him much. Maybe he should just ask...  
  
"...fight...noises...man...Bison..."  
  
He gasped at the mention of that name, especially told here, by someone who shouldn't know it, who was just a civilian. He fished inside his pocket with febrility, finding the ear transmitter he used in missions and fixing it to his ear. It worked like charm: the voices came clearly enough that he could hear everything now.  
  
The policeman was talking. He appeared somewhat skepticle but was coldly professional. "Now, sir, are you certain that you really saw all that?"  
  
"Look man, my story migh seem crazy, but I know that there was a bloody fight at my neighbours, that she said - quite clearly, mind you - that it was a 'shadow's law' that did it when I asked about it. And then there was this huge man that appeared out o' nowhere, and I'm sure I heard the name 'Bison."  
  
"And that's when you fled."  
  
"At her request...but I would have done it maself anyway. I mean, there was nothing I could do against a guy THAT size!"  
  
Jeremy didn't need to hear anymore. He was frozen in place by fear and stupefaction. He wasn't a stupid man, and he quickly put two and two together, putting together a portrait that appalled and terrified him. Shadowlaw had taken Cammy. Bison had. He'd decided to take her back. Why?  
  
For many reasons, all of which were terrible: anger, utility, vengeance. After all,. Cammy had broken through his control, and if anything he knew of Bison was true, he wasn't the type of guy who took to being defied in any way lightly.  
  
'It took her months to start crawling out of the shell she was in because of what he did the first time. What is he going to do to her? How could I allow that to happen! I should have been here!'  
  
Some small part of him still tried to be reasonable. What could he have done, had he been there? Gotten killed, most probably, and no help at all. What he would have given to help, would have been useless against someone of Bison's power. He knew that quite well. But a great part of his spirit refused to accept it.  
  
'I should have been there. She's my partner, my friend, my...'  
  
He closed his eyes and moaned, trying to chase down the guilt and the anger that were coming at him, overwhelming him. It was no use. His rage started to build: rage at himself, at Bison, at the whole damn fucking WORLD. He gave a cry, half-sob, half snarl, as he tried to collect his thoughts.  
  
"Well, well. Just look who's luck's just ran out." said a seedy voice.  
  
Still caught up in his red-hazed world, Jeremy reralised he had walked away and into an alley as he tried to control and assimilate this new situation. Three men. Twenties, low thugs, nothing to him, nothing at all.  
  
'FuckershurtpeoplehuhwellthatsfindyoubastardsifyouwanttogetityouvecometotherightguygonnatearyouassholesapartdamnuncaringLITTLEBANDOFLOSERS!'  
  
He smiled at them. It must not have been a pleasant smile, for they all looked worried, and one even took one step back. They didn't flee. Good. He hoped they'd stay.   
  
"I know exactly who's luck!" he snarled "YOURS!!!"  
  
With that he rushed forward, grabbing one by the arm, twisting it with all his chi put into the motion. The arm snapped like atwig, and he slammed the man into a brick wall, where he slumped. He dogdeg a swipe another did with a knife, taking the man down with the three brutal kicks: one to the ribs - which cracked, one to the stomach - which made the guy bend almost in two, and finally one to the face, nearly blowing the head off and assuring the man nice dreams for a long time to come.  
  
He turned to the now-frightened boss of the little band, still seeing red, his smile still in place. Band of fuckers. In his way. Gonna hurt them, hurt them BAD!  
  
The last goon took a swing at him, in fear and anger. Jeremy caught the fist, forced the hand open, and broke the guy's fingers backwards, all in one swift motion. The man screamed. His scream lengthened and went higher as Jeremy twisted his arm continuously, breaking the wrist, then the forearm, the elbow, the shoulder. The SCD agent let out a grunt of satisfaction when it happened.  
  
"So, like it, fucker? Huh? How's it feel to feel the pain you inflict on others, huh?"  
  
The thug could barely talk back, as the pain and fear made it nearly impossible. He could only keep repeating the same words.  
  
"Pleasemandon'killmepleasedon'tjustwantedyourmoneypleasedon'tkillmedon'tkillmepleasedon't..." was the litany that was repeated, over and over, fast-paced and desperately.  
  
It was then that Jeremy realised where he was, and what he was doing, fully, breaking throught the hase of fear and rage that had taken control of him. He looked appallingly at the cowering man who's arm had been shattered at many places, then at the two uncouncious guys that lay around. Although he felt litttle pity for these types of people, he knew that what he had done was almost just as bad. Mindless rage didn't excuse it. This was lack of emotional control. If Cammy had seen him like this...  
  
He let go of the man, who collapsed, clutching his arm. Shaking his head at what he had done, he then turned around and walked away from the scene. He'd lost control. The only time he'd lost it so completely was when Melissa had died, three years ago. He had been too late to help at anything. She was already dead by the time Alex and he had come. And now he let Cammy down.  
  
'And I left her thinking I hated her!'  
  
Grief and guilt again took hold of him, but he managed to fight it down. For now. Right now the only thing he could do to help, was to give a warning, and hope SCD could pull off another miracle.   
  
He touched his listening device/transmitter. "Activate communication interface alpha, communication frequency BF-thirty." he called out, now on the street, picking up speed toward SCD HQ.  
  
"Acknowledged. Stand by for communication." said a neutral voice in his ear.  
  
He picked up more speed, using years of training and chi enhancement to make him move at a speed that would have made world athletes jealous. And as he ran and waited for conection with the Communication Section, one thought came back to haunt him, again and again.  
  
'Please don't let it be too late. I don't want to lose her. If she dies or gets brainwashed again I...I...I won't survive it. I love her, dammit, why did I never have the guts to tell her that?!?'  
  
No reassuring answer came.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time...  
  
On top of the building where a fierce but hopeless battle had just taken place, a figure stood. It was a man, that much could be acertained, but whether he was old or young, it was hard to tell. His hair was white as snow, long and flying in the wind, but his face looked no older than late twenties. His eyes were closed, for he was trying to grasp the feel of things in this area.  
  
No one saw him, as was his way. No one ever thought of looking upward, as was his wish. He just stood there, clothed in bizzare, uindefinable grey garments, a person that had watched for far too long, and was finally nearing the end of a long journey.  
  
Finally he opened his eyes, and if anyone had seen them, them would have taken a step back. They were bluw, but glowed eerily, as thought trying to contain some great power. In fact that was what they were trying to do, that was what his entire body did, but no one would ever know that and those that ever did...were mostly long gone.  
  
Finally he spoke, a grating voice that seemed young but showed an ageless quality. Ws it to himself he spoke, the world, or fate? Noe one knew. Even he had forgotten.  
  
"The winds of Fate blow." he mumurred "Changes are coming, and I see that I can interfere only once, and that time has already been chosen. I pray these times that will come will not cost humanity too much, for as rotten as it seems to so many, I know there is enough nobility left in its whole...to continue on the path it has chosen."  
  
He closed his eyes. And as he did he started to fade, like so much smoke wafting throught the air.  
  
"Soon. Not today, not tommorow. But soon. Dire events are coming." he whispered.  
  
And then he was gone, as if he'd never been there at all, and the roof of the building was again alone, battered by the wind.  
  
_____________________________________________________  
  
Here is Chapter 15, I hope you liked it! I warn the poeple who read this story that the next chapter will have so nasty scenes, for they are needed for the storyline. See you when Chapter 16 comes out!  
  
Any ideas and feedback are welcome! ^_^  
  
Jeremy 


	19. Chapter 16

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 16  
  
September 23, 1997  
  
Through his VR helmet, Mark Culhen was glaring at a three-dimensional map of northwestern Africa. Somewhere over there, Shadowlaw had a base inside of which his fellow agent and comrade, Cammy White, was being detained, and probably going through all flavors of Hell. He had waited for a signal he was certain would come about the base's location had come through, but Bison's guys had worked well in jamming it. Not that they's discover the signal - Mark had designed the transmitter and its coded signal himself, and would have been be ashamed to find that his coding could be broken in two days - but their electronic devices were interfering with the job Mark had doggedly set himself to.  
  
And it was starting to get damn annoying.  
  
"Must be some way to get through this roadblock." he muttered "Computer, triangulate using Program Samson through satellites B-3, B-4 and F-8."  
  
"UNABLE TO COMPLY. INTERFERENCE PREVENTING FURTHER TRIANGULATION." said the SCD's computer's neutral voice.  
  
Mark hit the arms of his chair in frustration, and let out a string of good Scottish oaths that nearly teared the paint from the walls of the hightech VR Recon Room. As he growled, however, he was already thinking on how to circumvent this problem. He soon found a possible path.  
  
"Computer. Utilise sattelite B-3 to feedback the Falkirk virus and have B-4 and F-8 reactivate Program Samson. Start triangulation zero point three seconds following Falkirk.  
  
"ACKNOWLEDGING PARAMETERS. FALKIRK VIRUS UPLOAD IN PROGRESS."  
  
Mark cackled in triumph. Take that, you assholes. The Falkirk Virus was his work alone, and had so far never failed in bringing down unexpecting firewalls and jamming without the people being attacked knowing about it.  
  
"So, Mark, got anything new?"  
  
The voice was male, tinged with suppressed emotions and overflowed with fatigue and guilt. The Scot knew who it was in a second. He took his helmet off and faced the newcomer.  
  
"Not much yet, Jer." he said carefully, picking his words with the nervousness of someone who knew the subject was inflammatory. "Their jamming's been troublesome, even for our Veronica System. However, I've sent the Falkirk Virus, whcih should give me results soon." he paused "Ye look like Hell, my friend."  
  
It was only too true. For two days since Cammy had been taken back by Bison, the grey-eyed man had worked nonstop, at a frenzied pace, geting in touch with all of the contacts he had in northwest Africa, barely taking a rest. It was a lot to take, and it was clear that even Storm's rather beyond-athletic stamina was taking a strain. His eyes were shadowed and bloodshot, his bearing showing a slight stoop that clearly stated that a body couldn't live on adrenaline all the time. His tired, unkempt appearance worried many, including Mark.  
  
The weary young men nodded. "Feels like it, too. I managed to get five hours of sleep, though. I'll be okay."  
  
Mark frowned. Five hours? That hardly could have repaired enough of the strain that the guy had put his body throught in the last fourty hours. "Still, you should get some more sleep."  
  
At that, the younger man let out a macabre laugh that made the great hacker tense. There was hysteria in that laugh, and an undefeeling of pain. This wasn't good. Mark had been at this business long enough to know the signs of emotional breakdown. But how to help the guy now, when he was obssessed by something so important?  
  
Before he could say anything, Jeremy stopped laughing. "Sleeping is far, far too painful."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I can see it as well as feel it." was the empty reply. Mark cocked an eyebrow in confusion, and after a moment, his friend saw it and expanded on his remarks. "The beatings, I mean."  
  
Okay, this was getting stranger by the moment. "Beatings? What beating?" he asked, even though his brain gave him pretty nasty clues.  
  
"The beatings they do to Cammy." it was said with what should probably be taken as a 'but of course' voice, except for the catch that kept the voice from being neutral.  
  
"That's not possible!"  
  
"Oh, Mark," said the grey-eyed man with a new laugh, bleak this time. "Its definitely happening. I can feel it at the back of my mind when I'm awake. When I sleep, its almost like I was there!"  
  
The Scot didn't know how to answer to that. Psychology and philosophy and parapsychology were all elements of the world he had never devoted much time to; there were people like Joan who knew so much more in those fields. Oh, how he wished SHE was there. Joan would have known how to carry on in this conversation. But Jeremy Storm was here now, and he was holding something that was destroying him, and he was close to breakdown. Mark would have to go about it with his guts.  
  
First, rationalize. "Hrm...perhaps that...well link between the two of ye."  
  
Jeremy nodded. "Yes. I think so too. I think it may have been awakened by the intensity of her ordeal. That's the only thing that might explain it." his fists clenched.  
  
Mark was about to add something about it, but he was cut off quite efficiently by two bloodshot eyes that looked at him with the air of someone who felt lost and powerless. And angry. Terribly, horribly angry.  
  
"She can't move you know. They striped her, chained her hands to the ceiling, so that they can beat as much as they want, where they want, when they want - which is damned often." the bloodshot eyes were suddenly alight with hysteria, with something that bordered dangerously close to madness. "I see it all! I SEE IT ALL! AND I CAN'T HELP HER! I know a person I care about is being abused, see it. And I can do NOTHING! NOTHING! AND ITS DRIVING ME CRAZY! CRAZY!!!!!"  
  
Mark had listened to it all in rising fear, fear that was mixed with sympathy and horror. No wonder the man was ready to collapse, he was supporting both ordeals and working at the same time. It was just a matter of time before he was torn apart, litterally. Mark decided he had to act.  
  
"Jer." he said quietly "We'll find her and bring her back. Soon lad, very soon."  
  
Jeremy put his hands over his eyes, and he seemed really not to hear. Mark plunged on.  
  
"Its the worst thing that can happen, losing someone ye love, heh lad? We both know how that feels, both went through it. And I don't want ye to feel it again, just because of that. We WILL find her, we WILL bring her back, I can promise ye that. And as for ye, Storm, hang on! Try to use that link of yers to give her something to hold on to. Love, compassion, understanding, anything! Maybe you can't help her physically yet, but you can help her mentally!"  
  
Jeremy had come to look at him, and there was something in there now. Oh, there was hysteria and oain still, but something was now there that had been absent before: determination. He sighed inwardly in pure relief: his little speech had worked. The man would hold for now.  
  
A loud beeping attracted the attention of both men. Knowing the meanning of it, Mark promptly forgot about Jer and punched in a sequence to view the results of his foray. He put the helmet on.  
  
"Computer, update." he said breathlessly.  
  
"TRIANGULATION COMPLETED. COMPOUND DETECTED BY BEACON AT FIVE POINT THREE MILES SOUTH OF ABU HAMAD, SOUDAN!"  
  
Mark tore of his helmet and shouted. "YESSS! Good work Ibuki, lass!!"  
  
Jeremy was looking at him with mingled confusion and hope. Mark hopped off his chair and rushed out of the room, pulling the younger - but more powerfully built - man along.  
  
"Come on lad! We got to get our asses to Soudan and save a cute braided ass!" he hollered happily.  
  
"You...you FOUND HER?!?" the tone was so happy it seemed to be someone else than the broken man he had just talked to a minute ago. Mark grinned.  
  
"Yep. Shadowlaw defeated by the master of electronics and a young mistress of the shadows! Let's get going!  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time...  
  
The 'young mistress of the shadows' did not feel so masterful right at this moment. Sure, she had managed to escape detection in this base for nearly two days, but that was something that she EXPECTED of herself - to do any less would be shameful. And this base was more scientific than military, even though it seemed to possess impressive devices intent on hiding its sheer presence from the world. But the defense to detect someone already inside was practically inexistent, and avoidable by any who had speed, dexterity and wits. And she had quite a fair reserve of all three.  
  
Still, she hadn't managed to enter a certain section of the base - security there had been tightened so that it was extremely risky to make an infiltration attempt. So there she was, winding her way throught airducts she had memorised after twenty minutes of carefully looking at plans of the base she had swiped, and thinking on how she had come all the way here.  
  
It had started by Mark's message, which had frighteningly blown through all the codes and the electronic shields she had put on the Net to hide her home and had delivered a message that was nothing short of a polite request to help them resolve a crisis. She was to follow Cammy around a little while, and report back to the rest of the people who wanted the mess between Cammy and Jeremy resolved. An odd request, but an appealing one, for three reasons. First, because she had grown to at least respect the two persons involved, and wanted to help if she could. Second, Cammy was a trained agent with keen observation skills, and passing unnoticed to such a person was always a challenge. And third, well, she's always wanted to see what European cities like London looked like!  
  
She'd managed to go - obtaining Geki's by-your-leave - by explaining the first two reasons, omitting the third (although he surely guessed it) - and had followed the woman around for two days - sometimes allowing herself to look at an English monument for a few moments - before Shadowlaw had come in the play. When she'd arrived, Cammy had already been defeated and Bison was present. There was nothing she could do. All she could reasonably do was follow and hide in the plane that brought them to this facility. She'd never seen Cammy since the plane, but knew where she was. And she was intent on checking out the situation right now, althought she knew that as long as Bison was present, there was little she could do.  
  
She was in the restricted area, now, she could tell from the memorised layout of the place. Now, she should take the left airduct, then right, then right again...  
  
A scream wafted through the ducts, making her freeze for a moment. The scream - an intense, pain-filled thing - had originated from somewhere close, she could feel it. It took her some orienting, but she finally managed to find a a grate that must overlooked the place where the painful lament had originated from. She looked downward, and then it was all she could do to prevent her reaction from revealing her position.  
  
In a white-walled room that had perhaps fifty paces to each wall, there was Cammy. She wasn't in any position that one would consider comfortable. She was forcibly standing up, manacled, a chain going from her bound hands toward the ceiling. She was naked - Ibuki saw, with rising anger, the woman's ravaged clothes strung about the room. But the worst was the appearance of the body. Legs, arms, chest, all that she could see was covered by blue or red marks. A few cuts showed at some places - the right hip, the left hand - and of course her wrist were so raw they were bleeding. At first, the young ninja was amazed she was still alive. Then it dawned on her.  
  
Her grandfather told her that there were ways to wound a person, to strike someone and leave a pâinful mark, without breaking an arm or a rib. Geki had told her it was possible, that way, to keep someone alive but in intense pain. Such practice would break the mind of a person over time. He had expressed disgust over the whole process, and, seeing this, she understood why. This was inhuman. They hadn't beaten her, they had savaged her. She would have called out to her, if not for the fact that there were others in the room.  
  
Two of them were sentries, in unformed, standing by the door, alert and ready. She dismissed them. They were unimportant. More important were the two standing very near the battered body of the SCD agent. One was a tall man, black-haired, black garbed, with a neutral mien. He was looking at Cammy like one would a wall. The other man was even taller, more powerfully built, in full crimson uniform, a dark blue cape draped upon his shoulders and a military cap on his head. She gritted her teeth even further when she saw the gleeful cruelty stamped upon that face. She then had no doubt then that this was Bison. The Lord of Shadowlaw was putting an hand on the young woman's face. Immediately purple energy crackled, and lanced throught the captive's body.  
  
The effect was immediate. Cammy's body both jerked and stiffened, while from her mouth issued an animalistic howl, one that disregarded dignity to leave the place to the more primal essences of pain and fear. The scream lasted many seconds, until Bison removed his hand, and Ibuki had to call upon all of her common sense and training not to charge down and try to take out this...this...BEAST! Even the guards seemed a little put off. The black-garbed man seemed unfazed. In fact, he resumed speaking when Bison stopped, like the man had just arranged a poster on the wall or something.  
  
"My lord would want her as repayment for the loss she was essential in providing."   
  
"My brother WOULD want that." stated Bison, amused. "I will have no problem providing him with what he wishes when she is mine again. Of course, AFTER she has done her first testing mission." he grabbed her by the hair and hauled her head upward to face him. Ibuki could see her face clearly. A large, purplish welt consumed the left side of her jaw, while her right eye was puffed shut and her lip was split. However, out of that good eye, beyond the pain, there still remained determination, defiance. Cammy White's spirit was still there, fighting. Bison smiled at the sight. "I will be going away for a day or two, long enough for the good doctor to prepare you. And then, " his smile widened, dark "I will command you to kill that SCD man - Storm, is it? - the man I feel you being so very fond of. That would be an excellent test, would you not agree?"  
  
The reaction was immediate. Cammy's face seem to darken with rage and despair, and she tried to thrust forward, a futile move. Bison only tssk, letting more power flow from him through the captive. Again, that animal scream, and then silence. She had lost counciousness. Bison looked at her for a moment, then turned to the sentries, his demeanor cold and commanding.  
  
"You, bring her to the medical chamber immediately, and have my private jet prepared at once." he said. The guards jumped to obey, untying Cammy and transporting her out of the room. At no time did she do more than twitch slightly. The two men watched coldly, then resumed their conversation. "Are your forces ready, now?"  
  
"Yes." said the smaller man. "Our forces will strike SCD Headquarters as soon as your mole gives us the green light. Is she trustworthy."  
  
"Very. She will not fail her work - she never has. It is pride to her." Bison shrugged as if pride was a flimsy concept. And, to him, it probably was.  
  
They left a moment later, leaving behind an angry and guilty spy.  
  
Ibuki felt very bad right at this moment. Here she had seen what was happening to a good person, a person she had grown to respect, and she'd just hidden there as they tortured her further. Of course, she knew there was little she could have done. No, in fact, nothing. She had sensed the power in the one called Bison. In no way could she have matched it. The black-garbed man too, had possessed great power. Not nearly as much, but enough to have her wish never to meet him in battle. The way that one had moved...the feline-like grace of his movements. Yes, there definitely was something there. All in all, she knew, hiding had been the best thing. But it didn't alleviate the shame she felt over her inability to act.  
  
She was pondering at this when she felt a buzzing at her hip. Something in her sash was ringing silently. She put her hand there, drew out a small, cylindrcal object upon which a green light was flashing. In the middle of it, on a smile screen, a message was showned.  
  
-Good work, lass! We know where you are. Hang on tight, we're underway!-  
  
-Mark-  
  
She couldn't help but grin wickedly as she read this good. So, the odds would soon improve, heh? Fine by her! She was sick of this inactivity. In fact, she remembered a good way to increase the odds in her coming allies' favour.  
  
She started to move again, determined. She had a new mission now. Now, where was the control room that oversaw the defense of this place? It should be right, then at the next...left...then...  
  
She would make sure that, when the fireworks started, Shadowlaw got the worst of it!  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
Three hours later...  
  
Five crafts soared through the azur skies at great speeds, over the seacoast of Lybia, towards Soudan. Despite their great speed, the small fleet of aircrafts made little noise, and were undetectable by scanner or radar. This was the desired effect, for these were on a potentially dangerous mission and wished for as few obstacles as possible.  
  
They were SCD crafts. And they were far from standard. The largest, the ShadeArrow, was a transport craft, equiped with refracting armour and jammers, near-silent motors and excellent aerodynamics, it seemed a huge cross between a standard transport and the American B-2 Spirit. Flanking the behemoth, like some sort of honor guard, were four GR-08 Panthers, high-tech plane based on the old 1973 GR-01 Jaguar, souped up with devices derive from the B-2 and the still-being-develloped EuroFighter Tycoon. Powerful fighters, able to reach Mach Four with ease, armed with two 30mm cannons and 12 internal hardpoints that weere loaded with concussion missiles. It was a rescue force: orderly, determined and deadly.  
  
The interior of the ShadeArrow was just as calm and stubborn. There were eighteen men inside. All were arrayed in special kevlar suits, with microwave coms, powerful type 2 Berretas, Ak-47 Rifles, and, for four of them, FH-01 Laser cannons, which was the best of the best the SCD had in the form of handheld technology. These devices needed skill, care and were bulky. But watch out to anything or anyone getting in the beam's way.  
  
As commander of the rescue team, Giorgio Castillo was busy giving out last-minute details.  
  
"Remember that its Shadowlaw soldiers we'll be facing. That means they're not ordinary mercenaries or terrorists. They're well-trained, and they have good weaponry. The only true advantage we may have is that, since Mark uncovered that this was probably a scientific center, they don't have the best equipment. Still, remember, Laser Squad comes in, takes out enough defense armaments, and the rests follow. Can your squad do this, Steve?"  
  
The Canadian nodded. "Just leave it to us. When were done, there won't be anything blocking the way in." his statement was followed by the short but enthusiastic response from the rest of Laser Squad. Giorgio nodded.  
  
"Then the plan is simple: we go in, find our missing agent, and get the hell out with her as fast as we can make it! Understood." general assent...except from one man. The one who had never seemed to even listen to what was being said. Giorgio sighed and raised his voice to get his attention.  
  
"Agent Storm," he said severely "do you understand the attack plan?"   
  
No answer at first. Giorgio was about to repeat his question when Jeremy fixed him with his grey eyes. His face was still showing singns of strain, but there also was a new vitality present, relieving the pain that had been present. However, Giorgio did not like the vitality much more than the despair: it was driven hope, but also by, he felt, the knowledge that they were about to meet some of those who had made Cammy White suffer. Not that it was a mad look, but it was an extremely driven one.  
  
For the present, Jeremy spoke. "Of course I understand it." he said as pleasantly as he could, although anyone could detect the wild edge to his voice. "Standard rescue: lasers first, entry, strike, departure. I'm in the first group in." He then resumed looking at nothing.  
  
Steve shot him a meaningful look. The leader of the operation understood. Jeremy wasn't one to go to battle in such a state of mind. They had come to rely on him, not only because of his skills, but because of the man's ability to think under fire, to look at a battle logically, whether a street fight or an ops. In this instance, however, the steady undertone that Storm usually wore had gone down the drain, and it made him unreliable. However, they couldn't NOT have taken him along. Had they gone without him, he probably would've started demolishing the London Headquarters.  
  
He had no qualms about the men that would be going in. Although they weren't Jeremys, Michaels or Julias, they were SCD soldiers that had undergone severe MI6 training and had quite a few ops under their belt. He was very certain that they were more than able to take on such a base.  
  
Conversation started up again. After all, there were a few hours until they arrived. Steve motioned for him to hike to the other side of the small hangar, and he assented. He knew what the topic would be, but also knew Hemmerson had to talk it over. He wasn't disappointed.  
  
"Are you certain about this?" Steve asked.  
  
"Do we have a choice?" was the ironic retort.  
  
"We shouldn't have brought him over with us. Any mission that goes after Shadowlaw is delicate, and in the state he's in..."  
  
Giorgio cut him off impatiently. "I know, amigo, I know. But I was his senior and partner for a year, and I can tell you that I also KNOW there was no way we COULDN'T have brought him. He NEVER would have forgiven us." a slight smile "You may have brough him in, but you don't understand him very well."  
  
The Canadian blew air through his nose. "Why is it so important to him, anyway?"  
  
Giorgio almost laughed, but he was so incredulous he only stared, mouth agape. "Amigo," he breathed "Ye really have been out of the loop, have ye? Everyone else amongst the Elite SCD know these two fell in love hard without even realizing it. To Jeremy, its a matter of sanity, and a way to show her he cares. THAT'S how important this is for him!"  
  
Steve frowned. "Love. It shouldn't exist in the military forces."  
  
"Maybe, but it does, amigo. It does."  
  
They may have continued on this talk for a while longer, but they both heard something uttered by a soldier that chilled their blood. It was an offhand comment, more like a joke or an encouragement, but the phrasing was fatal.  
  
"Don't worry, Storm. We'll get your little whore back."  
  
Both men turned, appalled, torn between the desire to throttle the fool who said the atrocious sentence, and charging forward to restrain a murdering fellow Elite. As they controlled themselves, the former did not happen. As for the latter, the element of violence came into play, only not the way they had though.  
  
Storm simply turned his gaze toward the impolite soldier, his face immobile and serene. All was concentrated into his eyes. The bloodshot, blazing silver points gave off such wrath, such danger, that the fool blanched and lay back while the other who sat next to him squirmed.  
  
"Do not. Ever. Call her that again. Ever." The voice was so void of emotion, it made it even scarier, for it lacked both the warmth and the mercy which was usual for this man. His statement done, he turned away from all of them, cutting off the attention he had for them. There was palpable relief for all involved. Steve grasped Giorgio by the shoulder. He looked alarmed.  
  
"Don't tell me this was normal."  
  
"It wasn't, no." he gave the recovering soldier a look of contempt. "What's the name of that idioto?"  
  
"Greevers, I think."  
  
"Make a note never to have this guy in a mission Jeremy also participates in."  
  
Steve nodded in complete understanding. "What about Jeremy himself?"  
  
Giorgio grinned wickedly. "He'll be alright in two hours. And I'll tell you plainly, I wouldn't want to be the Shadowlaw guys who'll have to meet him in the following battle. In fact, I rather pity them."  
  
Only two hours to go, he thought at Jeremy encouragingly, and this nightmare ends, amigo.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
Thirty minutes later...  
  
It hurts.  
  
That was all the rationality that Cammy could come up with yet, and she could do that only because it was the truth. Every bit of her body throbbed, screamed, flamed or otherwise gave her waves upon waves of very real pain. At first she had tried not to scream when the soldiers - and, worst, sometimes Bison himself - hurt her, whether it was with fists, riffle butts, sticks or iron bars. She had held off for nearly a day, giving off no more than faint, involuntary groans. It had angered the Lord of Shadowlaw, and he had decided to use his Psycho Power at the end of that day. And that had been too much - a fiery, inescapable pain that jolted every part of your being, setting your mind afire with twisted thoughts of death and torture.   
  
She had screamed then. And it had been a downward spiral from there on in, from pain to pain, beating to beating, until she seized to resist, utterly. Her hazy memories, that told her that Shadowlaw people were darn good torturers, proved accurate.  
  
She'd tried to resist only once more when Bison, laughing, had given her a terribly memorable impression of being a punching bag, and had raped her. She had cursed him, spat at him, but in the end she couldn't do a thing as he penetrated her repeatedly, while taunting her in her mind. She had wished to die at that moment. The hopelessness was overpowering. Bison had been victorious from that moment on, althought she doggedly clung to what remained of her defiance and dignity.  
  
Where was she now? She felt different. She wasn't upright, her wrists no longer felt like hot coals. Not standing upright. She tried to budge a little, and found that she couldn't. She then knew where she was. On an examination table, strap holding her at the wrists, ankles, arms, legs and neck. Not something that would have held her, had her body been at its peak.  
  
But, as she was now, her battered body was unable to do any violent or sudden actions. Her chi was sluggish, and what she could take went to maintaining her. There was no escape. Not from here. None at all.  
  
But this wasn't what despaired her the most, wasn't what made her grit her teeth, so much did she want to sob.  
  
I will command you to kill that SCD man - Storm, is it? Bison had said. It had hit her to her core. No! she'd wanted to say, I'll never hurt him! She she had wanted to tell that bastard that, and much, much more. She didn't, she'd been through it. She remembered enough of the truth. Once brainwashed, she WOULD go to kill him, and Jeremy...he'd be too reluctant to fight, and would probably get killed. And THAT was killing her.  
  
Death was far better than this...  
  
"Hang on, Cammy! I'll get you out of there, I promise!"  
  
She started as she heard those words. No one was in the medical room yet, but still, she had HEARD something. HIS voice! She remembered him talking about the time he had heard her, long before he even knew her. Could it be that these were his thoughts, carried over by a strong emotion? Perhaps. Perhaps not. It might be one of Bison's tricks  
  
Yes, that was it. Bison. Giving her false hope. Just the kind of cruelty that was to be expected from that bastard. No, Jer couldn't have done that, couldn't have said that. It was impossible.  
  
Was it?  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Twenty minutes later...  
  
"My Lord Kale."  
  
"We have received the message from the mole. Their defenses are weakened, some of their best soldiers are gone."  
  
Kale was smiling as always, although his eyes were of ice. "Did the mole tell you about the defenses?"  
  
The acolyte took his time answering. Damn the fool! Why the delay? How he missed Everick and his neutral straightforwardness. When his friend gave a report, nothing was ever wasted, no time was lost. He was thinking about giving some 'encouragement to the acolyte, but the young man seemed to regain his common sense just in time.  
  
"It told that the outer perimeter would be cut off. Nothing could be done about the inner perimeter."  
  
The Lord of the Limerick Lair thought fast. "How many do we have to go after that base?"  
  
"Six hundred Circle soldiers, three thousand mercenaries. They would have no more, right now - with so many teams gone on missions and some of their best on the rescue operation, then eight hundred all in all, milord."  
  
Kale walked back and forth for a moment, gauging the risks. He knew that attacking the SCD Headquarters went against the Elders' wishes, and that it migh bring the secretive Circle into an even bigger conflict. The smiling man cared not - he'd never held any fondness for his organization. All he wanted was to damage the SCD. Badly. A hit upon the SCD Headquarters would be a perfect show. Besides, he needed have to worry. This was all part of the plan.  
  
Bison's plan.  
  
He turned to the acolyte, his smile wide and confident. "Go and tell this to the ones commanding the army: I want nothing less than the utter annihilation of the SCD Headquarters. Kill all SCD officers in the compound! No mercy! Understood."  
  
"Yes, milord."  
  
"Then go now." The acolyte bowed and departed. Kale then walked out of the room he was in, and came face to face with a man. He was a surprising sight. All arrayed in white, with white hair, eyes as old as a mountain and yet a face and stature so young. A strange feel emanated from the man that would have made many quail.  
  
Kale did not quail. Kale got angry.  
  
"Who the bloody hell are you?!?" he asked, rageful and yet curious."  
  
The man seemed to ignore his comment. "The child you name Dessara must not remain here. Send her elsewhere."  
  
Kale was pissed now. This man DARED to come here, DARED to gave him orders. The Circle Lord growled, summoning his power, his eyes turning purple, crackles of energy emerging from his clenched fists. The strange man seemed utterly unimpress.  
  
"You must follow what I say. The Fates demand it." was the ageless continuation.  
  
The other man laughed. "And here is my answer!" he shouted, and launched his power.  
  
The backlash was enormous. Kale was thrown against the wall, dazed by the force of the counter attack. Still unfazed, the white-garbed man - or was that GREY? - stood as if nothing had happened. He started to fade.  
  
"You have been warned. Send the child elsewhere." he stated, rather imperiously. And with that, the man faded into thin air. Kale got back to his feet, pondering the incident.  
  
What was the connection between Dessara and that man? What was he, anyway? Extremely powerful, to be sure, but beyond that? He couldn't seem to find the right answers, if there were answers to be found. Maybe it was just a lunatic, which seemed likely. Still, he'd never seen a man so strange...so aloof. He was impressive. And he could come back.  
  
Kale decided at that moment to follow the weirdo's advice. He would send the baby to Everick, who'd give her to Bison. His brother might balk, buty might be intrigued enough by the encounter to keep the babe. Besides, Dessara his great powers. It would certainly appeal to the Master of Shadowlaw.  
  
His decision made, Kale switched his thoughts to more a more pleasurable venture - the destruction of the SCD Headquarters. The attack would begin soon.  
  
He hoped many of these fools would die.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two hours later...  
  
The major Charles Brisby, fourty-eight year old MI6 veteran, Commander of the entire SCD and loyal servant of her Majesty, was being nagged by a feeling of foreboding, something that he couldn't explain, for it came from deep in his guts. However, he had learned, after over thirty years of military service, that trusting these 'gut' feelings could be - and had been - the difference between victory and defeat, between life and death. Consequently, he was feeling worried for no obvious reason. He hated that.  
  
He tried to go over the events that led to that feeling. First there had been the rash of terrorist-related reports in England, France abd Germany, which had necessitated he dispatched manyof his teams. Next was Cammy White's tragic abduction by that damn Shadowlaw organisation, and the dragooning of many of his best men here in London, which eventually led to the departure of twenty of his best to a Shadowlaw Base in order to retrieve the Agent White. The official reason had been to take her back before she divulged any Top Secret information, but Brisby had seen through it - the real reason was far more personal. However, Simmons was the one who gave mission orders in London, and he had seen no reason to veto her. After all, he, Wolfman and other old comrades had done much the same when much younger.  
  
All of these events were little facts, not really worthy of attention. However, if one viewed them as a whole, it amounted to a strange amount of coincidences - coincidences that had led to the drastic weakening of this compound. One could wonder at the portents, which pointed to an attack. He found that hard to believe - the SCD Headquarters still had many men and a defense system that was nearly two decades more advanced than the public knew about. Still, the possibility existed and as long as it did, he would check on things.  
  
It was an occasion to stretch his legs, and he seized it. He stood up from a desk that seemed to be ever-cluttered with important papers moved to the door and opened it. Which act almost caused him to into Julia Simmons. Both agents, the older and the younger one, backed up a step, surprised. Then Brisby smiled.  
  
"I'll never get used to you and your ever-silent steps, Agent Simmons." he said "I have to go check some things. Join me?"  
  
The small but deadly woman gave a nod. "Yes, I will, Commander. I was coming to see you about the rescue operation." That was Julia. Soft, but direct, hiding the steel beneath her words. She had been London's sub-commander for three years, and never once had Briby regretted promotting her, for she was highly competent and emphatic.  
  
They started off the hallway, in the direction of the primary control room. "According to the ETA I was given, they should be upon the Shadowlaw Base by now."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"What is the usual complement of such a base? Sixty?"  
  
"Actually, eighty, sir. It IS usually sixty, but its clear Bison has tightened security there."  
  
He nodded. It was to be expected, but he suddenly felt a bit guilty, sendinga team where they would be outnumbered four-to-one. He only hoped that he wasn't going to lose any. They were SCD, much better trained than Shadowlaw grunts, and Storm, Castillo and Hemmerson were something else altogether. Still, he probably should have sent more men.  
  
"What are their chances?" he asked at last. She hesitated, but he stopped and fixed her with his inflexible gaze.  
  
"Sixty percent, ninety if they manage to get inside the base unnoticed."  
  
"Humph...and what are the odds of THAT happening?"  
  
"Well, sir...."  
  
What the odds were supposed to be, they were never to know, for right at that moment, a slight tremor shook the building, while they heard a slight booming sound from outside. They were both unsteadied for a second, but quickly recovered. Brisby and Simmons exchanged a shock look, and then the SCD Commander rushed to the nearest comlink, punching in to the computer room.  
  
"Mark, what the bloody hell was that?" he asked.  
  
The scottish response was grim and alert. "Small missile impacted on the structure. Minimal damage."  
  
"I want a full status report. Control room, enact the outer defenses! All SCD personel are to arm themselves and man the inner defense structures. Mark, communicate to London, get MI6, the army, anyone, and advise of our situation."  
  
"Commander!" came Nemmi's voice. "This is Control Room. No Joy. I repeat, No Joy. Outer defense systems will not activate!"  
  
"Communications are down, they're jamming us!"  
  
So, he thought sardonically, I should've followed my damn guts more quickly. He squashed that frame of mind. Outer defenses were inoperable, communication was impossible, at least for the present. However, there were inner defenses systems that could be manned, and the walls of the compound could withstand a lot of punishment. With the eight hundred men and women remaining, they could withstand an assault. He tapped another link.  
  
"Radar, how many bogies?"  
  
"At least three thousand, sir! Moving for a direct assault!"  
  
"No flanks?"  
  
"No sir."  
  
He turned to Simmons, who was looking at him with unnerved but professional eyes. No flanking. Direct assault. That could only mean one thing.  
  
"They KNEW the outer defenses wouldn't activate." she stated. He nodded, he was thinking the same thing.   
  
That meant a mole. Not only in the organisation but in the compound itself. Amongst eight hundred of the most trustworthy people there was in England. Hard pill to swallow. Very hard pill. But he had to swallow it, endure it, at least for now. He had orders to give right now. Time enough to find the traitor when things had been taken care of here. Three thousand. Just outside the capital. Determined fools. The soldiers stationed in London would arrive soon,backed by MI6 soldiers no doubt. All they had to do was hold a while.  
  
Two other tremors. Time was running out. He pressed the comlink again.  
  
"Mark, order all hands to battlestations. Then...find whoever sabotaged our defense systems."  
  
"Aye, aye! To all personel: Battlestations! I repeat, all hands to battlestations. Prepare to repel assault. Repeat, battlestations, prepare to repel assault!"  
  
He would continue for at least two minutes, so that everyone heard, even those off-shift. Brisby walked away from the comlink, grim but determined. He looked at the London sub-commander, and found the same steel. Yes, he had chosen well with this one.  
  
"Lets go. When I created the SCD, I made sure I did not form an organisation of fools and wusses. I don't know who's against us and I care little. But these headquarters will not fall. Not as long as I still live." He gestured for her to follow him. They started to run toward the nearest armory. "I will make sure the fools never forget how SCDs can fight."  
  
That was a vow he intended to keep.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
At the same time...  
  
Shadowlaw Controller Jien watched his screens with a certain amount of boredom. Nothing exciting had ever happened at this facility, not in the ten years that it had existed, and it looked like it wasn't about to change. Figures. Why should it, anyway? There were so many jamming devices here, so many proyections, no one who shouldn't probably even had a clue that this place existed. It made for a very comfortable living, but not one that befitted the adventuresome. Unfortunately this was exactly what Jien was.  
  
And, sadly, it was this habit to seek out trouble when Shadowlaw had no need for it that had convinced some higher-up to put him somewhere where he'd neither find nor cause any. What a bummer. He was a soldier, no some paper-pusher!  
  
A blip went of unexpectedly, making him jump. He looked around. No one else. Not unexpected. Nothing ever happpened, so control room staff was always minimal. He tried to find where the blip was from. He discovered it came from the radar system. One blip, two, five, ten! What was that? He switched to the outer surveillance, and was surprised to find people disembarking from a very advanced-looking craft. Unused to such a sight, he could only gape.  
  
"What in hell are those guys?" he cried, not expecting a response. He nearly jumped right out of his skin when one actually answered. A cold, young female voice, just behind him.  
  
"Shadowlaw's Bane." she said.  
  
He never even had a chance to turn around, never had a chance to activate the defenses or the alarms. Slender hand took hold of the side of his face, and, with a frightening precision, twisted his neck, nearly breaking his head off. It was a bare second of pain. Then Jien felt nothing more in this world.  
  
Trouble had come to him, as he wanted. And he had paid the price.  
  
He thus never saw a slender but athletic girl garbed in black push his body away in disgust, before eying the camera views and smiling.  
  
"Well, about time. Welcome all." she said softly. And then she went to work on the communication device, working on the frequençy settings.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time...  
  
Steve Hemmerson had taken point, hefting his heavy but powerful laser riffle. He was joined by the other two of Laser Squad, and then by Giorgio and Jeremy. They both looked as puzzled as he felt.  
  
"No welcoming party yet. Its odd." said Jeremy, voicing what everyone must have been thinking. Giorgio nodded.  
  
"Could it be a trick to lure us in, catch us unaware?" ventured another from Laser Squad.  
  
Giorgio gave an hesitant shrug. "I find it doubtful. We've got dangerous firepower. Luring us in would be pretty big risk, bogger than meeting us before we're fully prepared."  
  
Hemmerson mused silently. What was happening out there? He couldn't know.  
  
"Lets be careful then." he stated "However, there is no reason why we shouldn't proceed as planned."  
  
"I agree!" said Jeremy readily. Too readily, lacking cold logic. But it was a taken of his current frame of mind. At length Giogio raised his hand.  
  
"Very well. We will proceed with..." he was startled when a voice came out of his earset. All heard the voice in their own, and where momentarily stunned.  
  
"Hello." said a pleasant female voice that spoke with a definite japanese accent. "Please come in. Feel free to blow this hellhole to crap."  
  
For a moment they floundered at this, then they all heard Jeremy give out a short laugh. "Ibuki, is that you or am I really going crazy?"  
  
"Oh, I'm me. And you better get your american ass down here, you and your friends. There's plenty of rotten apples here, all waitng to be picked off!" the link was cut off. Again a moment of silence. Then Giorgio's voice that came, strong and determined.  
  
"Dios! What are you all waiting for? Christmas?!? Laser Squad, take point. The rest follow. Target: the nearest damn door that can get us into that place! Come on, we got Shadowlaw bastardos to fry!"  
  
He pointed toward the compound, almost angrily.  
  
"MOVE OUT!!!" he bellowed.  
  
And as one, they did.  
__________________________________________  
  
The next chapter: Two great battles! Nuff said ^_^  
  
Hope you like it! I sure did like writing it!  
  
Hoping for feedback and ideas! See you guys soon!  
  
Jeremy 


	20. Chapter 17

Will and Fate Ch.17  
By Jeremy  
September 23, 1997  
  
Chaos.  
  
This was the core of battle, even if you had the most disciplined people, the most highly-trained soldiers. The human race was simply too chaotic for its own good, and so warfare was confusion leavened somewhat by discipline.  
  
Michael Veingrad wondered where that depressing thought had come from, especially now, when he had no time for such eccentricities. He was jogging to and from in Blue Section, the part of headquarters that had been hit the hardest, and thus was the weakest. He was arrayed in SCD ZX3 Battle Armor, a combat suit made from England's finest military kevlar compound, hefting a P14 riffle, his good old Berreta, ammo clips, and three time grenades.  
If one had thought him a one-man arsenal, he'd have been right. In fact, he was worse than that, for what he shot died. Veingrad was one of the best marksman in the world and a highly trained soldier, a combination the enemy had found daunting.  
  
Right now, he was urging a squad of SCD toward his present position, where entrenched friendly units were desperately trying to maintain a breach from occurring.  
  
"Come one, mates!" he shouted, waving them into position. "We need you yesterday!!! Move, move MOVE!!!" Under his steely gaze, the men and women of the new squad hurried to reinforce the beleaguered defenders.  
  
The mercenary army had had three advantages: surprise, numbers and the fact that the outer defense systems had been shut down by a damnable traitor that Mark was attempting to track down. The SCD soldiers had been taken by surprise, but had come to their senses and quickly offered a stiff defense. Presently riffle shots were being exchanges from behind bulkheads, walls, and overturned furniture.  
The mercenaries had more men, but the SCD were better- armed and trained, which left things in a draw for the present. Michael just hoped they could it at that until reinforcements came in.  
  
As the new squad took position, he saw three enemy soldiers, at different angles, taking aim at the largely unprotected newbies. He never though about what he had to do. Never hesitating, he took his Berreta, barely aimed, and fired three times, at three different angles. The first two men receive the bullet in the face, killing them instantly, while the third was hit on the shoulder. However, the wound made him stumble forward, and before he could fling himself back to relative safety, half a dozen rounds had raked his body, causing him to fly backward and crash down, unmoving.  
  
Michael saw that things were looking rather good here, and moved off toward another hot spot. There was no shortages of those in Blue Section. He wasn't surprised when his receiver on his ear unit gave a beep. He opened the line.  
  
"Veingard."  
  
"Michael!" came the professional but highly tense voice of Mark Culhen. "You in Blue Section, right?"  
  
"Affirmative." he answered neutrally, still jogging down a corridor.  
  
"Thank God! Tyrone's units need help out in Corridor D 22. I'm sending sub-squad seventeen and twenty to help you, and they should be on your heels when your arrive. Normally I wouldn't ask this, but Tyrone's not the leader type and at this time..."  
  
He cut him off with grunt, taking not of where he was. Corridor E 7. Not far. He increased his speed, maintaining his riffle and pistol at the ready. He never missed a beat. "I'm on it, Mark. What's the situation back at Red, Green and Yellow?."  
  
A small silence, which meant Mark was certainly checking up on some things. Then his voice came back, strong and not as high-pitched as it usually was. "Red Sector's in very good shape, considering this section had the main armory that contain our lasers and best equipment. Laser blasts are doing a lot of damage, and I'm sure it'll be a pain of reconstruction, but the enemy's being repelled soundly there.   
Green Section's being left alone pretty much - only a few skirmishes on the edges. But its the medical section, the enemy knows it can just wipe them out when the other sectors are taken." his voice became more grim, bitter "Right now its filling up with the wounded. Damn that traitor!"  
  
Michael wholeheartedly agreed.  
  
"Yellow Sector's...not much better than Blue. Julia and the Commander are there presently, keeping things together. It's holding...barely. On the bright side, I've got two good news."  
  
"Which are?" he asked, reading the signs by force of habits. D 29, almost there.  
  
"First, I've managed to link with MI6, and I've learned Wolfman's already sent heavy reinforcements. They should be there soon. The second piece of good news..." and his voice became almost feral at that "...is that I just found out who the bloody traitor is!"  
  
Michael blinked, starting to pant from the exertion of running with heavy equipment. "You have."  
  
"Bet I did, lad. That b*tch may be good at hiding her trail, but I f*cking DESIGNED the codes. It was easy to do a signature trace and find who had accessed our defense systems protocols."  
  
"You said 'her'. It's a female agent, then." he paused. "Spill the beans, who is it?"  
  
Mark was instantly uncomfortable. "Errr...well, you not gonna like this, lad, but I found out without a shred of doubt that its..."  
  
Who it was as the level of riffle fire and screams suddenly got louder. He looked up. Corridor 24. Just ahead was that big hot spot. And from what he heard, it was more than hot. Some of the voices that screamed in pain he recognized, and he heard the distinctive sound of enemy fire, much more numerous, friendly fire weak.   
It was no longer a hot spot. It was a darn volcano now! He gritted his teeth, hearing more screaming. Mark was asking if everything was okay, and he didn't answer, hearing the escalating conflict and knowing he had to act fast.  
  
"Sorry, Mark. Tell me about the traitor later. Where are the sub-squads?"  
  
"About two minutes behind you."  
  
"F*ck!" the marksman cried, losing his usual phlegmatic attitude. "That position's not going to hold THIRTY SECONDS. There's no way that..." he trailed off. Wait. There was a way. One that no sensible person should take but, heh, who ever said he was sensible. Calm, yes. Sane, never. He sighed, a small smile upon his lips.  
  
"Mark." he said softly. I'll take care of the first bunch. Should cause enough confusion so that the sub squads'll be able to take care of the rest of the jerks."  
  
"Take care of them? By yourself? That's..." a shocked gasp on the other side. "Michael, don't you DARE do you what I think you're about to do!"  
  
"And what are you gonna do about it? Spank me?" he said with a small point of humor. "Take care of yourself, my friend. Tell Nemmi I'm sorry." he reached for his ear piece.  
  
"Michael...!" the Scot's voice was cut off as he removed the device, still wearing the resigned smiled on his lips. The screams had faded, replaced by angry, determined shouts. The defenders had been wiped out. The enemy was coming up the corridor. By the time the sub-squads arrived, they'd have been well-entrenched here. To remove them would have been costly.  
  
But he was here. That meant less SCD kids were going to die. What did it matter if he did. He had delayed his date with death long enough, time to go out the scene. And if he was going out, he was going out with a bang!  
  
He stood up and walked towards the approaching voices, his step determined unafraid. Had anyone looked at his face, they would have seen the look of a man who was going to die, knew it and wholefully accepted it. A serene but frightening look. And still that smile played on his lips. He rounded off the corner of the hot zone, taking a timer grenade set to zero seconds, and found himself face-to face with at least two dozen surprised men. They only stared at him for a second. He took hold of it.  
  
"Let it be known that Michael Veingrad met his death on his feet!" he shouted.  
  
It prompted the mercs into action. Many raised their riffle, as he pressed the activation button on the timer grenade. Riffles spotted fire, aimed at his chest. The kevlar couldn't stop them all, he knew that quite well. He groaned and gasped at the impacts, at the numbing pain that engulfed him. Still he didn't fall, although death was cofast for him, his vision blurry, his mouth filling with blood. He spat it out, and in once last defiant act, threw the grenade at them.  
  
"HERE! A GIFT!" he screamed in agony. It detonated a great ball of fire and pain. And Michael Veingrad smiled for the last time.  
  
'A good way to end it. If only I'd known who the traitor was' he thought fleetingly.  
  
Then darkness.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Five minutes later...  
  
Taking over the door was easy. Strong steel alloy, two sentries. Sentries that hadn't been forewarned by a now-dead controller. Two sharpshooters took careful aim, squeezed of two shots from silencer-endowed pistols. The two Shadowlaw grunts crumpled immediately to the ground, one with a bullet between the eyes, the other with blown-open throat. As there were no windows anywhere that could be seen around this compound, Giorgio had felt safe sending the Laser Squad to blow the door.  
  
Mere moments later Steve had given the order, and four reddish-white beams had shot from high-tech cannons and impacted upon the door. It held for a few seconds, then started turning red. And just before the firing sequence ended, there was a great grinding sound, and the doors literally blew apart, in one myriad of overheated bits of metal. The doorway beckoned, a gaping black hole that seemed to signify death.  
  
Castillo, however, had no time for that kind of sentimentality, and neither had any of the men with him. The rescue team advanced, quickly and efficiently, but not using their wraithlike stealth anymore, for anyone inside the base must have both heard and felt that explosion. There would be a welcoming committee. A very angry and dangerous one.  
  
They entered, Laser Squad on point, and found themselves facing half a dozen Shadowlaw soldiers. Fortunately, these grunts had just arrived, and were unprepared still. They fumbled with their riffles, but to late.  
  
"FIRE!" shouted Steve, and four beams responded, this time backed with bullets from the AK-47s. Three soldiers were burned by the laser beam, while two were ripped apart by a fair amount of ammo. The last one looked around, panicked, and ran back through the left side of the fork they had in front of them. Giorgio came forward to inspect the corpses, his face grim but filled with dark humor. He looked back at Steve.  
  
"Looks like they know we're here, huh? Time to move. Steve you and Jer take Laser Squad and four other men and head left. We'll handle the rest. Move fast, and get through anyone you see."  
  
"Right."  
  
"All right! Let's move it, Ninos!" bellowed the mission commander. At once the team broke in two: one heading left, the other right. It was a well-used tactic, and a sensible one. When in a base where it is outnumbered, an invading squad divides in two or more units, thus giving it increased speed of movement and the element of surprise. That effect had worked fully to their advantage thus far.  
  
They followed the panting whine of the fleeing man through the left way, and got into another shooting match with four more soldiers. The nearest never had time to shoot, as Jer took the arm that held a gun, twisted that limb until it broke, and pushed the man's face hard against his knee, knocking the guy completely senseless. The other three - the coward with them, fired back in panic, hitting two of laser squads, who fell back but were otherwise unarmed because of the kevlar armor.   
Steve shot down one with his Berreta, while the other two were mowed down by weapons fire. They immediately pressed on, one man shooting a riffle shot into the unconscious man. A dire thing, but this was battle, after all, and no one said anything. No one needed to.  
  
They were coming up on another fork when, from the very ceiling it seemed, dropped a shadowy form. Half a dozen guns were immediately leveled at this new unknown threat, and Steve was prepared to give the order to fire, when Jeremy's voice rang out, not in fear or anger, but JOY.  
  
"Ibuki! Haha! You damn ninja girl, thank you!" he shouted, rushing to the newbie's side and giving the person a sound, friendly smack on the shoulder. Steve ordered the men to stand down but remain vigilant and observed the figure.   
Garbed all in black that was used so often for stealth and infiltration, the figure was slim and definitely feminine, with an almost unnatural grace. With one move, the woman took off the black cowl over her face, and Steve almost froze. This was the Ibuki that Mark and Jeremy spoke so highly of?!? Why, she mustn't have been more than seventeen! He could not believe someone so young could do so much.  
  
But it wasn't a time for disbelief, and so, swallowing it, he approached the two, who were deep in a hurried, whispered conversation. "Okay, people." said the Canadian "Its nice to play catch-up, but we've got a mission to finish, and..." he nearly choked on his word when the shinobi stealthily sped down the right corridor. Jeremy gave him a level look.  
  
"Follow her, Steve. She knows the way." and he moved after her, with nearly the same unnatural speed. Caught off-guard, it was all Steve could do to rally the others and follow, gritting his teeth against the annoying reckless streak World Warriors all seemed to have. They rushed after them.  
  
They caught up as the two were mixing it out with ten infantry. Three were already down - two from knives sticking through their throat and one because of a powerful punch. However, the surprise had passed, and the seven remaining grunts had cornered the two on the other side of the square room, asking them to surrender. They were in the middle of obeying, all smiles. Steve and his team of seven were upon them in a second, tearing through.  
  
Three went down by bullets. Another got his neck twisted by the ninja when his attention was diverted, and Jeremy disarmed another, clobbering him with the rifle. The two survivors, recognizing their situation, laid down their weapons, just as Ibuki was taking off some kind of card, talking to Jeremy fast. there was another corridor, only fifteen feet deep, and the two were quickly jogging down there.   
They looked determined but almost...almost...almost what? Whatever it was, it gave even Steve Goosebumps, for all his experience. He ran after them, determined to stop whatever scheme had been cooked up. As he reached them, he found the ninja fiddling with the door's control, Jeremy looking back at him. Waiting.  
  
"Okay now, Storm." he stated quite crossly "What the HELL do you think you're doing?!?"  
  
"Answering a challenge that was tacitly posed." was the calm answer.  
  
"What?!? Have you forgotten that we're here to get Cammy out of here?? What's gotten into you."  
  
"Nothing. Cammy matters more than anything to me right now. But she would've wanted me to take care of those fair and square." he explained, tense.  
  
"Who?"  
  
"'What' would be better." stated the Shinobi, her voice surprisingly young and bright. The door opened. Jeremy turned around.  
  
The other side was a rather large antechamber, probably a guardroom or something, from the weapons racks and computers the lined a wall. There was a door on the other side. And, blocking that door were two women.  
  
That was his first impression. Just two women. Nothing serious. Then he saw the vacant expression in their eyes, and his impression changed. Wrong, not JUST two women. These were killers, devoid of emotion, devoid of humanity and - from their eyes - devoid of true sentience. Like...like Cammy when she had been kept at Interpol, before they found way to help her there. He gripped Jeremy's shoulder.  
  
"Those are Bison's dolls, huh?" he asked, although it wasn't really a question. All he received was a nod. Dolls. Here. But then... "They're watchdogs! They're guarding the prisoner!"  
  
"Right. Once through them, we will be able to help Cammy." said Ibuki.  
  
Steve nodded." Good. We'll blast them, then. Then we can force the door and..."  
  
"No." Jeremy, cold, his voice containing a rising wrath that was tinged with apprehension. "We gotta do this the old-fashioned way. Don't worry, they'll get theirs for helping in abducting her." a dark smile appeared, increasing Steve's unease. Still the Canadian sought to convince the younger manot to enter the fight, no matter what he felt he had to do. But he never had a chance to.  
In one swift move the gray-eyed American had turned around, planting his feet in Steve's stomach. The kevlar protected, but he was still flung ten feet back, breathless. His men were coming behind him, he heard them as he moved painfully erect again. Jeremy gave him a wave of apology, and even a smile 'v'.   
  
However, the man's eyes were angry, shadowed. Desperate.  
  
And then the doors closed, slammed shut. Steve gave out a marvelous amalgam of Canadian curses that would have seared the skin out of any of his countrymen, and tapped his ear device angrily.  
  
"Giorgio. Come in! We gotta a problem! That fool..." he started.  
  
"We got more than just a problem, amigo." came the Spanish voice. It sounded worried and hollow. Giorgio never sounded like that. Worried, maybe. Hollowed, NEVER. He wondered what was up. When he discovered what it was, his entire being was gripped by fear.  
  
"HQ's under attack. It's bad, Steve. Seems like Michael's just died there."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Twenty minutes later...  
  
Colonel Wolfman peered at the chaos that had once been the octagons base and the defense- riddled lawn of the SCD Headquarters through a small window in the armed chopper he was in. He was scowling as he took stock of the many holes that had been practiced in the walls of the compound, of the mercenary forms that milled about those holes and mostly at the fact that nothing had been placed to stop the advance of that army. The report he had received was true, then: the defense systems HAD been sabotaged.  
  
"I can't believe that a mercenary army would have the GALL to attack the heart of England." said a nearby soldier. Wolfman nodded with the others, but wasn't as surprised. In all his years in MI6, he'd come to learn that mercenaries would do ANYTHING for money. Anything. This attack, however, must a cost quite a bundle.  
  
'No time to theorize.' he thought blandly. 'You've got hundreds of Her Majesty's best trapped in there, and your boys got to help them get out of this mess.' He left the window and looked to his men, tapping a radio link.  
  
"Everyone of you hear this. This is Colonel Wolfman of MI6 Division. Our choppers will land shortly where the enemy troops are tinniest, in SCD Red Section. The enemy's buckling there, and we're going out there to make damn sure that these bastards get kicked out of England. Remember, our job is to enter the compound, reinforce the SCD still fighting there, and wait until the regular armed forces wipe out the rest in about five minutes. Everyone knows the specifics. Godspeed." Not a bad little speech. Staying in touch with the troops was the key, he knew. High morale in that case. He turned to the pilot. "Land right in the middle of the bastards."  
  
"What?" the pilot exclaimed, incredulous. "But sir, they'll shoot us down before..."  
  
"Man these choppers will need more than riffle fire to go down. Now lay down strafing fire and land the damn thing! We'll be fine..."  
  
"In your opinion..."  
  
"Right. MY opinion. But since I'M the commander of this mission, MY opinion is all that counts. Land, that's an order. You people, be ready to let your riffles thunder around."  
  
They did land, in fact better than they had thought to at first. The strafing fire from the choppers was with heavy ammo, and scattered the mercs directly around them. As so, after being hit rather ineffectively by the attacking army and responding more strongly, sixty-five mark 3 troop helicopters landed, not farther than thirty meters from each other. Inside each, twelve MI6 soldiers, arrayed in kevlar and riffles, awaited the chance to go out and give some to the enemy.  
  
It was no exception in the main chopper, for Wolfman could see that urge, that very need, in the face of every of the eleven that stood with him. Hell, he certainly felt that very thing himself! He took hold of the opening latch and gave the others a level and determined look that would have made any of the enemy outside shiver.  
  
"LET'S KICK THEIR A**ES, BOYS!!!" he bellowed, and he heard a rough howl of acknowledgement as he pulled the door open with force. And they literally burst out of the chopper, gunning down any of the grunts that came their way.  
  
There was a rumor that went around the fighting circles and the army barracks in the world. It largely told that the English, which had once been a civilization of warriors and daring adventurers, who had forged the largest empire the world had ever known, had shrunken to polite, spineless once-had beens. It was more than probable that the mercs who were attacking the compound had thought that very clearly.  
  
Well, if the SCD defense didn't disillusion them, the MI6 certainly did. Swift, deadly and thoroughly efficient, the elite soldiers of Her Majesty swarmed up the merc lines, anything but either polite or spineless. The enemy line was weak, pummeled from inside, and outnumbered by the fresh and well-armed strike force that came from outside. Caught between a defiant anvil and a furious hammer, the enemy line broke like ice.   
The exchange of fire was intense, and for each two mercs, a MI6 soldier fell, but the reinforcements soon won the upper hand in this fight where no quarter was given or asked. They broke through the wall, scattering and killing the attackers. Inside, a ragged and tired cheer went up as what was happening became clear. It was nearly an ovation when Wolfman entered the Red Section.  
  
Nearly. Not quite. Too many lives, too many friends and comrades had been lost in that free-for-all of a battle for anyone to really cheer even SCD's saviors. Wolfman didn't mind. In fact, the one who should be cheered, he felt, were those kids. Taken by surprise, betrayed by someone inside the organization, these men and women had rallied and obviously forced the enemy to struggle to gain even an inch.   
Someone had once told Wolfman the younger generations weren't fighters. He hoped to see the man again, to tell him that he was an ignorant old fool. These youths were proof of how wrong the idea was.  
  
He didn't stop to be congratulated or to congratulate, instead focusing on finding the read and green uniform worn by the Elite SCD, and found one. A man of about thirty, an arm in a sling, grasping a Berreta. He didn't know the man but knew that he was the only elite here and, by that, the highest-ranking SCD in the place. He read the name tag. Lt.-Comdr. Smith.  
  
"Commander. We'll secure the perimeter and then reinforce every weakened position in the base." behind him, a great flow of MI6 were efficiently teaming up with SCDs, doing just that.  
  
"Thank you, sir." said the other man, tired but resolute.  
  
"I wish to speak with Major Brisby. Can you put me in contact with him?" he asked. A logical venture: Brisby and he together could hold off anyone. However, instead of the prompt "Yessir!" he had expected, the man looked stricken. Wolfman suddenly felt as if the room, so hot with smoke, and sweat and blood, had turned into an iceberg. "What is it? Speak up, man!"  
  
"I...I'm sorry sir. Major Brisby was mortally wounded while organizing the defenses of Yellow Section."  
  
NO!!! Screamed a voice inside his head. Ever since their first mission twenty-eight years before, Wolfman had never seen Brisby getting even a scratch. The man was swift, decisive, always taking the right decisions. He'd never been hit. To Wolfman, his friend had always seemed to be an unstoppable force, a force that had taken the fight to terrorists, fanatics and drug-dealers everywhere and had forged his own organization to that effect.   
For a moment, the commander of MI6 was too stunned by surprise and grief to speak. Then anger replaced it. He took hold ofg that anger, harnessed it to keep the walls of his discipline intact. Grief would come later, he knew. Not now.  
  
"Well..." he had to cough to find his voice. "Who's the highest ranking SCD active here?"  
  
"That would be me, sir."  
  
Wolfman saw a an average man holding a pistol coming his way, his gait alert and denoting aptitudes that seemed to belie the high-pitched voice, the thin face. The accent was Scottish, that was sure.  
  
"are?"  
  
"Captain Mark Culhen, fourth-in command of the London SCD." The voice was sad, knowing it said it meant there were three before him who couldn't command. Wolfman sympathized.  
  
"Captain, then I'll relieve you of command from you temporarily."  
  
"Thank you sir. It's just as well, actually. I'm on a personal mission right now."  
  
Wolfman didn't know how to feel about that. "What would that be?" In answer, Culhen gave out a very nasty smile, a smile that hinted at suppressed anger. A very dangerous look that would have made lesser men step back. Wolfman did not. The scot showed his pistol.  
  
"I'm gonna catch the one who betrayed all of us." he said. And then he was gone, running down an hallway. The colonel looked in that direction a moment longer, than turned to giving orders. Someone passed him an ear-link device, and soon he was speaking with SCD and MI6 Elite both.   
The plan was simple: reinforce all positions, evacuate the gravely wounded and, most of all, HOLD. Retreat was not an option. Until the Regular Army arrived, they had to hold, or SCD would be crippled too badly.  
  
SCD was Brisby's dream. The man had forged it, held it together, and died for it.  
  
And Wolfman would be damned if he'd let bloody MERCS destroy what his friend fought so hard to bring to life.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Around that time...  
  
Perhaps it had been stupid not to let Steve take these two dolls out with weapons fire. In fact, it most probably had been. Only he hadn't wanted to. No because he wanted to save Cammy himself - although saving her was always part of his decisions lately - nor because of the honor of the fight.  
The reason why had been much simpler: Bison was gone, and these two dolls were extensions of the bastard. As such, he had found the perfect target to pass his rage on, a person with whom he could give in to the violence that had been surging through him all the while the battle went.  
  
Juli and Juni were their name, these two dolls. Which was which he had no clue and cared not one little bit. He had taken on the brown-haired one because she was the closest to him, letting Ibuki take care of the other. He had gone into the fight with all he had.  
  
And right now, as he blocked a blow from his enemy, he was still giving it all. That doll was also giving it her all, however. She was strong, surprisingly strong, and extremely fast and nimble. He wondered if Bison had pumped them with his power before he went the-devil-knew-where, and found it likely. The guy had gone to a certain length to reclaim his once-agent, and wasn't the type to let things escape him easily. Yes, she was juiced up. Fine by him, he WANTED this fight to be messy.  
  
He returned the blow, catching the doll at the base of the jaw, pushing her backward. She stumbled as her head was snapped back, and he followed like a predator, laying into her with all of his strength. However, the stamina of this agent was incredibly increased, and she took the hits without much damage, her face showing not a hint of discomfort.  
In fact it showed not a hint of anything, except the eyes, which had an eerie purplish glow to them and always seemed to glare. Eventually she blocked, took hold of his arm, pivoted and threw him away. He flew right into a wire panel, disrupting some circuits and well-nigh getting electrocuted. He groaned when he impacted, his back blazing red pain, but he ignored it, scrambling on his feet and taking his fighting stance a bare moment after his crash.  
  
"SNIPING ARROW!"  
  
He heard that at the very last moment, and found himself unable to move in time to dogde the quick attack that came his way. It hit him straight in the face, breaking his nose in the process. His vision blurred for a moment as pain overrode the synapses of his brain, but ragefully forced it all to recede. He thus saw her crouching in front of him on moment before her next attack went.  
  
"CANNON SPIKE!"  
  
It almost hit him. He scrambled backward by instinct, narrowly missing being thrust upward painfully and unceremoniously, but still went down on his behind, dazed. He shook his head and cleared it, seeing the doll was still up finishing her upward, chi-driven thrust. He smiled briefly, forgetting the ache of his arms, the blaze that was his back and the dripping, throbbing thing that was his nose.   
He went deep within himself, channeling his own power, using it in a way that he had practiced but never used before in a fight. Chi flowed through his right arm, concentrating, until a gray-white hue surrounded it. His muscles went taut,. trying to contain the power, but still he waited, waited as she descended, and was at just the right angle. Then he released it, swinging his fist upward, giving the chi he had gathered the chance to explode.  
  
"SKY BREAKER!"  
  
Although his fist had not been near enough to hit her, she gasped as the chi that burst through his arm imitated the swinging movement, catching her in the abdomen, flinging her backward. She crashed to the floor, coming to her feet again. But not as swiftly. That shot had told.   
Her movement were a bit shaky now. Still she came on, and he let her. He blocked her fist, swiped her feet from under her, but she followed the swipe, flipping backward and coming back on her feet fast enough to deliver a strong blow on the neck that he barely avoided. Another punch followed however, across his jaw, and he stumbled backward.  
  
And that was IT. At that very moment he stopped simply wanting to defeat this opponent, it became a need, a focus upon which days of guilt, helplessness and anger rallied. He reached down, reached for the chi that hid within him like he never had before in his life, even when he had fought Thomas years ago.   
Unlike that time, however, his anger did not explode, it cooled him, leaving only the obsessive need to win and a dark ruthlessness. He let chi flow through his arms, his feet, every part of his being, and threw himself back into the fight like a madman.  
  
She was pushed back by the force of the punches and kicks she received. For each that connected, some thing strained, sometimes greatly. Her left arm broke when she blocked a kick of particular viciousness, and an expression of suffering flickered in her eyes. Still he moved in, unrelenting, wishing this doll broken so completely and so utterly that it would never bother anyone again.   
His pain was gone, so focused was he. The world was gone. Everything. At that very moment, in the heat of the exchange, he forgot why he was here. All that he wanted was to win, to make this damn thing suffer, and it was exactly what he was doing.  
  
It lasted one instant, one instant on which all that mattered was all, except this. And then reality reasserted itself, and he relented, stepping back. He looked over and examined his opponent.  
  
It was still standing, but in very bad shape, far worse than his. Red marks showed on the skin that had been hit, her left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, and her breath came fast, rough. She was nearing the end of her line. Bison's power that maybe, but when the body failed, the power could do nothing.  
  
He looked at this woman, who had never done anything to him, who was only an innocent victim, taken by Bison, her spirit broken by physical, mental and psychic abuse, and felt pity and not just a little bit of guilt at what he was doing. However, he didn't consider stopping.   
He darted a look at the other side, and was surprised to see Ibuki and that other drone still locked in combat. In the heat of battle, he had completely forgotten them both. However, he saw that the young Shinobi was gaining a distinct upper hand, and decided he to forget them again for the time being. Although he was short of breath himself, sweating, he managed to rally his strength.  
  
"If there's still a woman inside of you." he said "I want her to know I'm sorry." And he returned with what remained of his strength.  
  
Both were winded, both were wounded and both had their own kind of determination. However, Jeremy had it going at a far higher level, using the power that emotions gave, the power that she lacked. She lurched back, he charged. He gave an opening, she went for it. This deadldance went on for a while, both giving out all they could.  
  
Then the brunette slipped. A minor thing, that wouldn't have taken her a second to rectify when they had begun to fight. At this point, however, she was drained, and it would have taken her a moment more to get her feet back in place. For a single moment, she opened her guard.  
  
Jeremy took that moment, pivoting upon himself and delivering a crushing back kick to her abdomen. She went crashing into the wall he had crashed into a moment before. Still she stood. Barely, but she stood. H egritted his teeth. Was there no end to that thing? He couldn't keep this on forever. She was so juiced up, she seemed to withstand things that normally would have knocked her out cold!  
  
That's when he decided to use it. His own technique, based on the Flare Talon, a technique he wasn't certain he could withstand. He reached out into his will, his spirit, his very soul, and drew out all the chi he could, bringing his fists forward, palm outward, one upon the other.   
Her forced the chi outward, through his arms, into his hands. Channeled it, piling the charge, powering up. Veins on his forearms and hands swelled, threatened to burst, and he started to hyperventilate. Still he held. All his life, no matter what, he had held. This was no different.  
  
focusfocusfocusbreathebreathegodithurtsfocusfocusbreathedamnbreathenowreadyitsreadyreleaseitnowreleaseitnowNOWNOWNOW!!!!  
  
"FLARE NOVA!!!!!!!!!" he screamed.  
  
And it was then that a giant claw, much like the Flare Talon but bigger and far greater in potency, burst through his palms, heading toward its intended victim much like the very claw of a bird, a freak of lightning come to claim its prize. It hit the doll full force, causing every circuit in the wall to go crazed, adding their own power.   
For a moment, the combined power of electricity and chi created a veritable oven of energy, in the middle of which writhed the body of a human being. A scream went of, very human, all fear and pain, and Jeremy closed his eyes as he saw her cook alive in the little inferno. Her scream continued for many seconds, and then stopped. The energy dissipated, but the electricity still surged through her body.   
From the sweet, nauseating smell of scorched meat he got, he knew there was no hope for her. Nobody could survive that. He hadn't counted on his attack creating the chain reaction, and he was sorry, but the result was the same.  
  
Whether voluntarily or not, he had killed her.  
  
He went to his knees, hands flat against the floor, trying to regain his strength. It was slow in coming. The Flare Nova had been a desperate gamble, and not one he wished to reiterate. After a minute or two, however, his body started to respond almost normally again. That's when he felt someone behind him.  
He whirled to find himself face-to-face with an Ibuki who seemed even more at the end of her strength than he. Drained, but exultant, however. He looked behind her, and saw the blonde doll's crumpled, unmoving form.  
  
"Q-q-quite...a...hh...s-show." she said.  
  
"Yeah...cough...Is she...hff...dead?" he asked. A very reluctant, very slow nod. He understood. "Yeah...I'm...I'm sorry about it too."  
  
"But there was no choice." she said.  
  
"None." And one day, we might actually bring ourselves to believe that, he thought. He waved at the door, knowing Steve was certainly thinking about blowing it up and them with it by now. "Go open that, please, Ibuki. I-I'll go get her."  
  
A far more ready, far less uncertain nod. She however raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Will you be alright?"  
  
He nodded, getting to his feet shuffling toward the other door, his thoughts again fully occupied by Cammy's condition, the need to find her, to tell her she is safe, to bring her back home. However, deep down inside him, he heard the doll's scream. He heard it quite clearly.  
  
And he knew he had gotten out of this battle with his humanity intact, for he felt only sadness and guilt from it. He found himself asking his spirit this question: Was Cammy White worth all this?  
  
And his spirit answered: Yes. She is worth more than anything to me.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Ten minutes later...  
  
Nemmi Shiwasa was calmly strolling inside Green Sector. The day had gone well. The plan that her true master - not that weak do-gooder Brisby - had engineered was now well in hand, and she free to continue as if nothing had happened. For, as far as the others were concerned, nothing had. A failure of the defense system because of an outside virus was implanted, that was it, that was all.  
  
The firing had almost stopped now, the combined forces of SCD, MI6 and the Regular Army hard at work putting down the last pocket of mercenaries, reveling in their victory. She smirked. The fools. They were playing right into her master's hands and they didn't even fathom it. The SCD organization was now crippled by its losses. It would be so EASY to sow discord among them now. And if she could put the blame on Mark for his electronic incompetence, it would...  
  
"Ye must be feeling very proud of yerself, huh lass?" came a voice. A voice she both knew and yet did not. The incredible high-pitch of it, the heavy Scottish accent, that all bespoke of Mark Culhen. But the usual cynicism of the man was gone, replaced by a rough, deadly edge. She turned.  
  
There he was, standing not ten feet from her, his poise tense, deadly. His normally teasing eyes were now hard and cold, and his jaw, usually relaxed, was drawn tight. He looked like a predator finding a prey which had wounded it. A very frightening image, to be sure, and it did cause her to become wary.   
But she wasn't afraid. She had surmised that one might find out the truth. But that one was the Elite that had been taken because of his computer and engineering genius. He wasn't a fighter at all, just a darn computer geek. She could handle him most amongst all of them.  
  
"Mark!" she said, her voice showing relief. "Its so good to see you! It was terrible, if you could see all the wounded the medics are treating, all the..."  
  
"Shut up, ye damn traitor." he hissed "I know all about the systems failure. Ye were good, Nemmi, very good. Hid all traces of the little shit ye did. Except the mainframe always kept safe copies of any tempering. The way it was hacked, the terminal, the positions - the codes." he went silent. What he left unsaid went without saying.  
  
Nemmi had expected it, of course. A geek Mark may be, but he WAS a computer genius. It was reasonable that he had put safeguards on the Headquarters programs, and electronic recorders as well. She shrugged nonetheless, dropping the act she had taken on these last few months. It wasn't needed with this one anymore. But the man was alone, unaided. That was his mistake.  
  
He seemed not to notice that fact, however, as he unbuckled his pistol, holding it in front of her. "I should just shoot ye like a dog for what ye did to us. Michael's death alone demands it. But I shan't. If I did, ye'd escape SCD justice, and I wouldn't wanta do that. Ye deserve more, after all, than just being shot." He dropped the pistol, and it clattered on the floor.  
  
She laughed. "What? English justice? Don't make me laugh, baka! Your system's so rotten, I'll be out before you even blink."  
  
His only answer was a very frosty smile, that contained something that almost actually made her shiver. "I'm not speaking of English justice. SCD takes care of its own, lass."  
  
She wasn't listening anymore. She wasn't armed, or else she would've shot the fool the moment she'd seen him. However, she had had advanced hand-to-hand training that a geek like Culhen could not hope to match. Seeing him so confident, unarmed, she crouched and jumped, kicking at him.  
  
But then he shifted, dodged the swift kick, bringing his fist hard on her ribs, making her cry out. The cry was cut short, however, as his knee connected with her abdomen with surprising strength. She saw stars, her breath was cut off, and she was completely befuddled and actually scared now.   
How did that guy manage that? She tried to recover, but one that blossom at the back of her neck outmatched the pain that surged inside her. Slowly, she felt herself into unconsciousness. She manage to turn her head slightly, eying the cold Scottish face.  
  
"But you're just a darn...geek..." she muttered. He gave a short, macabre laugh filled with contempt.  
  
"Ye thought they'd let me into the ELITE if I didn't know how to fight?!?" he spat on her, disgusted. "PSAW! Ye are a FOOL!!!"  
  
She struggled a bit against the darkness, trying to keep her consciousness, but ultimately failed. She drifted off with Mark Culhen's face looking down at her. And as she did, a frightening question sparked off, just before the dark.  
  
WHAT was SCD justice, anyway?  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Around the same time...  
  
Cammy was jerked into groggy wakefulness by shouts and a terrific commotion from inside the lab. She wondered what it was, her wits sluggish. They'd drugged her to run more tests before starting their experiments, and she had no idea how long she'd been out. What was happening around here?  
  
Fear. That's what she felt from her surrounding. Paralyzing fear. She caught a glimpse of movement and saw a form. A dark form, making its way to her, very quickly. Probably Bison, who else would make these doctors so panicky. That's right, Bison. Coming to hurt her again. Funny, normally that would have scared her a lot more. She guessed being drugged had at least one benefit.  
  
The form stopped right next to her. She could see a little better now. It was definitely a man. But not Bison. A smaller man, that one. The man stopped, gave a strangled noise, and took a definite step back. Now she was confused. What was that guy doing? No one here had ever shown any grief, and that was what she felt vaguely. Grief. Grief and hate, but not hate that was directed at her. She tried to sort it out, couldn't. The man seemed to scan all across her, then put his hand on his face, and gave out a noise that now confused her even more.  
  
A sob. A very loud sob. No man of Bison ever would have dared.  
  
The man stepped right next to her, again, and reached out an hand, touching her cheek slightly, she jerked sideways, not trusting this, knowing what had happened before, when someone had done that. The hand stopped, turned, snarled something - that voice, that wasn't possible!   
And then she felt the metal bands removing themselves from her waist, her neck, her legs and arms. She was shocked, but even more so when the man turned back. He came into focus suddenly, as he spread a blanket a frightened medic gave him on her.  
  
The face that looked back at her was young, but bruised and grieved. Tear-filled gray eyes fixed her with great tenderness, while there was a bittersweet smile on his lips. The man was lean but athletic, dressed partly in elite kevlar garb. She recognized the man at once, and for one moment she thought that, maybe, finally, she'd gone mad. She blinked.  
  
But no. He was still there, lifting her in his arms, and clutching her for a moment, with a relief and a warmth she felt right through the blanket. That's when the drug finally dissipated, and she fully realized what was happening.  
  
"You'll be okay, I got you. Oh, Cammy, I'll never let him, damn him, he'll burn for this, forgive me..." he babbled. She heard a commotion. Other voices, also familiar, if less so. Other SCD, she realized. She did not look at them, but instead looked at the one who held her, her own eyes blurry with tears. Tears of relief, tears of joy.  
  
"Jer..." she whispered. He looked down at her. "You....really know...how to make...a dramatic pose." she nearly smiled. So did he. She closed her eyes. "I....knew....that you'd come....somehow..."  
  
And she fell asleep. Not a painful sleep, not a drugged one. A restorative sleep, something she'd never had in days. It was okay. She was safe with him, with them.  
  
She was going home.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Two hours later...  
  
Kale crouched, holding a child toy, in front of the child that Everick and he had taken from folk who were gone by now. A little baby that possessed immense potential, one that he had personally decided to name Dessara. He looked at the child in a sort of fond puzzlement, his smile he wore lacking its usual manic edge. In front of him, the baby giggled, trudging along on all fours, trying to reach the toy. He kept it out of reach for a while, observing.  
  
"Why are you so important to that guy, little Dessara?" he whispered "The man could have ground me to powder if he'd wanted to, gotten you out himself. Why didn't he? And why the warning at all?"  
  
The child could not answer, of course. She gurgled happily, her small, pudgy hand having finally reached the toy. She tugged at it and he held out against her for a moment. I answer, the second hand grasped the toy, and she tugged. Stubbornly. With good strength for such a little one. He felt very glad of what he was seeing.  
  
"You have a strong will, and not a little bit of greed, huh?" he said "Good, that will be useful to you later on. This world won't give you anything if you don't fight for it, tear what you want from it." he stopped as he heard someone - an acolyte, he felt - hesitantly bowing, and clearing his throat. He already knew the reason for the man's presence, and as such was annoyed.  
  
"Speak." he said.  
  
"Milord." was the hesitant answer "The attack on SCD Headquarters has been repelled - with horrid casualties for both sides."  
  
He nodded. The outcome had been designed such by his older brother, for vague reason he had not explained, even to Kale himself. He looked down at the child, still tugging, growing frustrated. His smile changed then, becoming the manic one the Circle Elders themselves were uncomfortable with. He let go of the toy and Dessara squealed in victory. He picked her up and turned to the acolyte.  
  
"I am aware of that. Aware of this failure. You dare disturb me with such news while I visit my most probable heir." he showed his teeth, his smile becoming carnal. "You have some nerve, acolyte."  
  
The man blanched. "F-f-forgive me, Lord Kale! It was Master Brenos who insisted that..."  
  
"No excuses." he looked at the child in his arms, who was watching the toy most giddily. "Dessara, let me show you what you shall do to weak fools later in your life!" And before the acolyte could make a move, he had grabbed the man by the throat and infused him with destructive energy. The man screamed, clutching at Kale's arm, but the grip was pure steel, unrelenting. The screams lessened as spasms took over.  
  
Dessara, still held by one arm, started to wail at the sounds of agony. Kale kept his cold gaze upon the dying man and with a with a surge of power, cut the trachea. The man was dead before he hit the floor. He held the sniffling child over the corpse, so that she could see it.  
  
"That is death, Dessara. Never forget it. Never forget that YOU have the power to do that." he stepped over the corpse, outside the room, holding the child preciously. "My brother, Bison, will teach you that. Yes, little one, you're going to Shadowlaw to make that weirdo happy. And I'll be happy too. Bison will take good care of you." he laughed, and the child giggled with him, her fear already forgotten   
"He won't give you toys like I do, but he'll teach you many things. Within two decades, probably less, you'll be a weapon. Not a doll like Juli or Juni, but someone with a will, power, and utter loyalty in Bison and his goal." he looked at her "I can hardly wait to see the end result." again he laughed as he continued his round.  
  
And the small child giggled in her innocence. 


	21. Chapter 18

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 18  
  
October 2, 1997  
  
"This isn't going to be pleasant."  
  
"She brought this upon herself, and more than deserves it."  
  
"I'm not doubting that, lad. Just stating a fact."  
  
"A truthful one. But this was the rule here, and I'll follow my old friend's rules here."  
  
This exchange, given in a rather nervous but determined tone, took place between Giorgio Castillo, Acting Commander of SCD, James Wolfman, Commander of MI6 and Mark Culhen, Communication and Electronics Specialist. Of the three, Mark was the least thrilled about what was about to happen. Not surprising: first, because since he had arrested her, he would be most directly responsible for what she would go through, and secondly, both Wolfman and Castillo were angry on a far more personal level than he was. He did not blame either. He just wished that he was quite elsewhere. Jeremy had refused, but that was a taken: he was ever at Cammy's side, helping her recuperate from her wounds.  
  
They made their way to the holding cells below SCD HQ. Here nothing was amiss, nothing denoted the terrible battle that had gone on and cost so much for this compound. They made their way to one particular cell, where three guards worked as sentries. Giorgio gave a short nod, then asked if the traitor had outfitted herself.  
  
"No, sir." explained the oldest soldier "She's been refusing to wear it, supposedly because it's not, and I quote here 'not a nice colour.'"  
  
This did NOT please Giorgio who, since the raid on the Shadowlaw Base and Julia's severe wounding in the battle in England, had an hair-trigger temper about the traitor. He gestured to the three soldiers.  
  
"Go in there, all three of you and have her put it on! FORCE her if you have to, I care not. And tell her that she'd be better off not bringing me in there! Now go."  
  
The three men saluted, one worked on the numeric sequence that allowed the door to open, and all three went in. The door hissed shut behing them, and the three men waited. They waited a long time, more than ten nerve-wracking minutes, and Giorgio was just deciding to carry out his previous threat, when the door hissed open again, and the three men that had gone. Between to of them came the traitor that had crippled SCD.  
  
Nemmi Shiwasa, who had helped, by her manipulations and hacking talents, the recapture of Cammy White by Shadowlaw and the bloody Headquarters Battle, Was standing between the guards as if this was a normal day, despite her manacled wrists, the flow of blood that oozed from her lips - obviously she had put up quite a fight, and the costume she was wearing. An ugly costume it was, to be sure. A brownish green, skin-tight, it covered her whole body except her head. The suit was criss-crossed by dark-blue filaments that ended in electric and electronic stumps. Mark, who had helped design the thing, no quite well what it could do. And althought he had no pity for the bitch - he lost friends too, in the attack - but he didn't like it.  
  
She gave a bloody smirk to Giorgio. "Why, Acting Commander. What a promotion Giorgio. But I thought Simmons was to be Brisby appointed successor." she then let off a laugh. Mark saw his friend's eyes harden, but nothing more. He waved them all to follow and they did, even Wolfman, who in fact had the superior rank. They all did, the guards pushing Nemmi along. The scot saw her face, read litle fear, and guessed she knew nothing about what she would soon face. If she did, she would be struggling mightily.  
  
They came to a room, one that was kept well but hadn't been used in over six years, barely three months after Mark had joined SCD. A time Mark had wished never to repeat.  
  
The group entered. The room was small, filled with computers lining two walls and a restraining chair. This chair had many electric and electronic cables attached to it, and there was a strange helmet arraged in the same fashion as the suit the traitor was wearing. Two SCD technicians were operating the computers as they entered, and turned to face the new arrivals.  
  
Giorgio was in no mood to waste time with formalities. "Is the program ready to play."  
  
"Yes, sir. All will be redirected throught the helmet and the suit."  
  
"W-what the hell is this?" asked Nemmi. Mark supposed she wanted to appear a mixture of angry and disgusted, but there was a fear to her that fooled no one.  
  
"You'll find out." stated Wolfman with a neutral expression. "Strap her in."  
  
The soldiers did their best to do just that, but now Nemmi had a certain idea of what they could do with such a device. She didn't like what she imagined, obviously, for she put up a good fight, using her superior Elite training and coupled with desperate energy, and causing the the three men to have much trouble. Finally Giorgio waded in, followed by a reluctant Mark. The two Elite pushed the soldiers aside, and, after a while, managed to sit her down. Giorgio held her down with the strength and determination of a veteran soldier, while Mark strapped each foot, and then each hand. After they did so, the technicians started connecting the cables to the stumps on the suit. She stopped struggling as she did so, staring at the three officers in a mixture of helpless rage and utter terror. Mark barely managed to keep his expression neutral, while Castillo and Wolfman were utterlu unflappable. The spanish came forward, formally.  
  
"Nemmi Shiwasa, you have been found guilty of treason that caused the death or crippling of key SCD personel. What say you?"  
  
"You have been found guilty of illegal sequestering and illegal trial measures." she spat back. "What say YOU?"  
  
Giorgio nodded, as if he knew the answer he'd be given - and who was to say? Maybe he did - and gestured to the soldiers. They came forward and put the brownish helmet on, connecting cables. As it was, only her mouth was visible in the end.  
  
"Any last words?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah." she said, trying to control her fear "SCD sucks. You all suck!" she fairly screeched.  
  
He nodded absently, as if agreeing. "Start the S.I.D Program." The technicians pushed a button.  
  
They could see little of Nemmi's face, only her mouth. For a moment it retained its air of desperate defiance, then she gasped, tried to recover. It was clear a great strain was taking root within her. She tried to hide it by biting her lips, hard, until blood started flowing from them, but finally couldn't hold back a whimper. Her body jerked. The whimper became more pronounced. Still they all watched, all as impassive as they could get themselves to be. The whimpers stayed on for a minute or two, and then it started.  
  
"Nhh...no...no, not that...no...no! NO! PLEASE, NOT THAT! STOP PLEASE! DOOON'T! AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOOOOOOO! AHAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"  
  
Mark couldn't help but hang his head a little. If Jeremy had been here, he probably would have been shocked and repulsed by what they were doing. Just as well he was going on vacation to Italy with Cammy. They didn't need another voice on their conscience right now. They were elite soldiers, but this had nothing to do with battle. Wolfman, beside him, listened to the incresingly hysterical pleas and scream, and stuntered to him.  
  
"Brisby called it 'The Shame and Need of SCD, and I can understand why now! But, I must admit I'm not really sure of what it does."  
  
Mark sighed. He did not wish to explain. But Wolfman had given an order, and he deserved to know. "The system is an bioelectronic device, worked out by our best engineers utilising ground work made by doctors and scientists that worked on brain waves. The computers transmits a frightening or abusive situation, passing them on after the other, until the subcouncious responds to one. Then the computers utilise their programs to augment the intensity of the experience, making it worse and worse."  
  
Wolfman nodded, only his eyes showed a pity when he looked at the suffering Nemmi. "The suit itself?"  
  
"Designed to give the body the sight, smell, hearing and physical impression of the situation. The person is there, as far as she knows. There's no escape." he paused, swallowed hard "All the while we ask questions durinmg the event - yes-no questions, which gives us much data on the organisation the traitor worked for for example. Eventually the mind can't take it anymore. It breaks down into insanity, than incohent horror. And then...it shuts itself off. When it does, the computers give out an electric charge that stops the heart. Its the perfect way to kill - no trace, no proof, no nothing."  
  
Nemmi's screams increased in intensity, and Giorgio finally turned to them as well. He had overheard, of course. "Yes. Although we follow the law for most matters, we ARE almost as bad as Shadowlaw when it comes to traitors." he gave a wry, sickened smile "Maybe that's why we fight them - we have at least something in common: we don't forgive." he stopped, listened to the screams for a second. "Come. This will go on for a while. Lets go back to somewhere I won't feel like a complete monster." he turned to leave. Everyone followed.  
  
As he left, Mark heard Nemmi scream out in her delirium, a sentence that would haunt him every time he would think about the incident.  
  
"NOOOWAHHHHH! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MEEEE?"  
  
Why, indeed? Beyond the reasons they officially gave, what could it be, except simple, wicked, WARPED vengeance.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One month later...  
  
"I can see him, looking at me, his eyes showing scorn and cruelty, his whole face a smirking facade. I...I try to give him back that glare, pound for pound. But I can't, not really. I'm scared, I'm scared and he sees that, he feels it. So he laughs at me, as if I'd just told him a great dirty joke. I mean nothing to him, nothing at all. He tells me he's glad to have found me again, but its said in the tone of someone finding a useful toy again. I feel pitiful, small, but I tell myself I'd rather die than show it, even though my hands are shackled upward, my wrist burning, my shoulders straining, even though there'd be nothing I could do against him, even if I was free. And he knows it, knows what I'm trying to hold on to."  
  
"His smirk grows bigger, and the hate I feel just goes along with it. It burns me, I spit at him, curse him, and he all takes it all in stride. I'm starting to feel his presence, inside my head, mocking me. I feel like screaming, but choke it out. I don't want to give in to him, not now, not ever again! And then he reached out with that big hand of his and stroke my cheek. I couldn't bear it, I felt like dying, and I reacted. I used my chained hands to push myself upward and jammed my feet in his genitals. It hit, really did. And it hurt him. I felt a mad flash of triumph, a sense of exultation at the fact that I'd hurt him, for once! But it was short-lived. He...he looked back at me with an deformed, furious face, and hit me in the face. I felt numb, it was like being hit by a pole or such. I felt a coppery taste in my mouth. Then another punch, in my stomach, making me want to puke, and then another, and another. I try not to scream but the pain's so much too much, I can't take it. I finally cry out, and still he hits me. This goes on for I don't know how long, and then he stops. I think maybe he's had enough for this time, but I'm wrong. He's had enough of beating me up. But not enough of ME."  
  
"I...he started tearing off my clothes. I tried to resist it, sure, but tied up, what could I do. My strength was out, I hurt everywhere! I cursed him openly, but it only brought me another fist in the gut. Then he started touching me, roughly, everywhere. No gentleness, no comapssion, no nothing. This was just to humiliate me, to break me, and I felt a new pain, inside me, because he was raping me and I knew, I knew and I couldn't do a thing about it! And then I felt him slide inside with strength. It hurt! It hurt! And his voice spoke in my head, taunting, triumphant, filled with cruelty! And I couldn't help it, I begged, BEGGED him to stop, please, I couldn't take it, but he wouldn't...he..."  
  
"Wake up, dear."  
  
Cammy opened her eyes, slightly dizzy, left with a bitter taste in her mouth but not much else, and stared at Rose, who was gently looking back, her eyes filled with sadness. She took it that she had seen much the same things as with the other psychic mind-reads, and her heart sank at the realisation.  
  
It was Jeremy who had nearly begged her to see the wise, mysterious woman again, and try out the psychic help. She was still against it at that time, but she had had so many nightmares about what had happened with Bison and his band that she started to consider it, and, finally, had accepted to devote the vacation Giorgio had just about forced upon them to dealing with the mental scars she carried. They had tracked down Rose to her private residence, only three miles outside the city of Venice, and it had taken only a little talk for the lavender-haired woman to accept to attempt a therapy. So far it had helped in the fact that the nightmares were coming more rarely, but nothing else yet. She still felt that fear at the back of her mind.  
  
"What happened, Rose?" she inquired.  
  
A soft sigh. "What usually happens in such cases: your subcouncious mind is filled with your experience with Bison, ever present - his work, of course."  
  
"We've been at this for two weeks! How can I rid myself of this nightmare?!?"  
  
Rose considered. "I would normally say that time would heal all things, but Bison arranged for this sentence to be hollow. The psychic imprint is strong, and would need a psychic attack - A dangerous procedure, and I wish not to risk it yet, and never without your consent."  
  
Cammy nodded. "I got it. I'll think about it. Look at the time! Sorry to do this, but Jer said he'd wait for me for breakfast, and he's a pain when he waits too long."  
  
Rose smiled. "Then go, dear. We'll see each other soon, to try again, or at least talk about what we could do."  
  
The braided SCD woman grabbed her coat, only slightly wincing as her still-fragile body violently protested against the sudden movement. Still she went out of the nice, well-built house hurriedly, when she stopped and smacked her forehead. Jeremy had asked her to ask Rose about which shop in Venice baked the best cinammon pies - his personal poison. Although she would have shrugged this off normally, she just had to imagine Jer's slight disappointed look to turn on her heel and reenter the house. She opened the door soundlessly, and was about to politely call out, when she heard a male voice speaking. A voice she knew.  
  
"...to help, huh?"  
  
Jer's voice! What was he doing here? She'd just been there, how could he have entered the place without she noticing? Unless...unless he'd been here all along. She strained her ears and listened closely. Rose was speaking.   
  
"I know that well, Jeremy. But there is nothing else I can do for her. Not the way I am doing it, certainly. And the other ways are blocked until she asks for them. The main help, young man, will have to come from you."  
  
That seemed to fluster the man, although Cammy couldn't see him from her position. "I...I don't see what I could do. I've heard what Bison did - seen its results myself - from her own mouth, and from what I heard, there's little I can do. The problem's psychic-"  
  
"The problem," cut in Rose, a triffle impatiently, "Is in her mind. To conteract it, you need something of equal weight as a base. And that, dear youth, you have."  
  
"And that is?"  
  
"Your love for her."  
  
Cammy froze for a moment, not believing her ears. What was Rose thinking?!? Was she trying to unnerve the man or something? She frankly couldn't believe her ears. She expected to hear embarassment or, worse, a denial. However, neither came, and the young woman was surprised to hear the man sigh in resignation.  
  
"People really can't lie to you, huh, madam Rose?" he said softly, his voice introspective. "Yes, I love her. There's no one I love more in this world. But how do I know she has the same feelings?"  
  
"Simple observation of facts. Ever since...the incident and her recovery, she has been with you as much as she could. Her mood, usually wary, bordering on depressive, becomes lively and filled with quiet joy when she even mentions you. Believe me, child, you mean much to her. You should tell her. It might help her."  
  
"Or push her away." his voice trembled slightly "And if...if that happened, it would kill me. So I can't speak out. Not yet."  
  
Cammy slowly closed the door, the request about a bakery utterly forgotten. Her mind was having a field day dishing out emotions at her. She was angry, because of the man's spying. She was distraught by the fact they talked about her behind her back. But these were the minor emotions, those that held very little place right now. Two emotions had center seat, and she mentally danced back and forth between the two.  
  
The first was shame. She had heard Jeremy's evident lack of certainty about her feelings towards him, and she knew why it was so. Always, when she was with him, she'd never show much joy, and never any real affection. She was nice with him, as nice as she could bring herself to be right now. But how to explain that each time she saw him, she felt a warm, fuzzy thing inside her. That when he had gently stroked her hair during the first, horrible few days that followed her liberation, that she had felt safe, and that the nightmares always receded. She loved him, she was quite certain of that.  
  
She just couldn't bring herself to really show it. Hence the shame.  
  
And the other feeling. It had come to her very clearly, had made her head feel light for a few moments. When he had admitted his love, she had started to feel it. But it was one sentence that made it felt fully.  
  
'There's no one I love more in this world.' He had said it with so much sincerity, so much affection in his voice. It could only be the truth. Thinking about it, a tear rolled down her cheek, and she allowed herself a tentative smile. Yes, she recognised that emotion, even though she and it had been so out of touch until he arrived in her life.  
  
Joy. That was it. Pure, unadulterated JOY.  
  
Suddenly, she felt it was time to set things right. Very soon. Somehow. She'd just need a place, an occasion...  
  
...and a whole lot of guts.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *   
  
Thirty minutes later...  
  
"...so there I was, stuck between Allied tanks and Axis infantry, those bastards bombing the fields and making so much noise I though I'd go deaf! Did you know what I did then, son?"  
  
Jeremy barely stiffled a yawn. "No, sir? What did you do?" he asked, although he'd been told the story fifty times already before.  
  
"I went getting my ol' man, told him about the war at our door, of course! We fled before the two bands of thugs history so proudly calls 'armies' could come to blow." he shook a scrawny finger. "Remember that son: the best way to win a war is not doin' any to begin with. Remember that!"  
  
Although the young man nodded as if he been given some holy edict, inwardly he sighed in boredom. This wasn't the first time he'd come to Venice while working for SCD, and each this old man - Linus Esfratta - caught him and mired him in stories of the devastation that World War Two had caused to Italy. The problem was the old guy always seemed to forget which story he had told, and went on repeating it. It was the second time he'd told that one just now, and he was getting tired.  
  
He still felt that telling Rose about his feelings was a bit premature, but he had felt it was better this way. He knew lying to a psychic was impossible, anyway. Actually, it had felt good, telling it to somebody who understood, at least in part. He only wondered how he could ever tell Cammy herself and how she'd take it. He felt there was something they shared, but was it love for both?  
  
And Rose herself, what an enigma that woman was! Ever since Julia had introduced him to her a few months after he joined the SCD, she had been extremely willing to help him in particular, even more than Julia, who was a real friend. Today, just before going through the shortcuts that would take him to the room Cammy and he shared before she arrived to find him gone, he'd ask why out of curiosity. And she'd smiled that oh-so irritating smile of hers and given him a picture as an answer. Out of irritation and questionning, he fished it out of his pockets and examined it, momentarily forgetting the man next to him.  
  
The picture was that of a woman holding a baby in her arms, smiling a cheerful smile at the camera, the baby itself pointing at whoever was taking the picture. The woman had black hair, pulled in a ponytail, was shapely and definitely held a sort of elegance hampered only by the slightly clumsy way she held the babe. Too tight, as if not to drop him. Not her child, certainly. The child itself was dressed in a blue cotton suit with white...little...horses...wait a minute, weren't there a photograph of himself dressed in a smiliar suit.  
  
"Well, if it isn't miss Rose. You know her, son?" said Esfratta, making Jer jump. He'd forgotten the old man was still there. He blinked, looked at the man, then at the photograph, and had the sudden wish to smash his head into a wall for such blindness. It was true. The woman WAS Rose herself. He'd been thrown off by the hair colour, the hairstyler, and mostly by the immensely cheery face she wore, instead of the kind, reserved mien he knew. But...but then, if it was her, was it HIM? Probably, judging it was supposed to answer his question. But beyond the fact that she'd seen him as baby, what could it all mean? He didn't have a ready answer, and it irked him. Ever he had disliked unsolved mysteries.  
  
"Jer? Jer! Earth to Jeremy Storm, come in!" said a female voice.  
  
He snapped out of his puzzled, stunned reverie to face have a finger snap right in his face. Not expecting it, the grey-eyed man stumbled backward, his arms flailing the air for a moment in fashion that most have made him look like an utter fool, and fell on his behind unceremoniously and painfully. He cursed for a moment, then looked upward to see Cammy standing there, in a heavy coat, her arm extended and a rather sheepish look on her face. Next to her, old Esfratta was shaking his head, as if saying 'kids these days.' He was probably right, too.  
  
"Err...sorry." she said, with an embarrassed half-smile "Didn't know you'd react like that."  
  
He groaned in answer, and got up to his feet. The old man chuckled as he dusted his back rapidly.  
  
"You young folk, always jumping at shadows. Well, I'm off. Time to give these old bones a rest."  
  
They bid him good day - Jeremy had difficulty keeping the relief off his voice - and they left toward their hotel, walikng through italian-speaking passerbies. He found himself under the scrutiny of just aboutr every young italian women they passed, and he squirmed under some of the gazes. He sometimes felt they thought him a delicioud piece of candy and, like hungry people are won't to do when hungry, tear unto him. Very frightening image that. He pushed it out of his imagination rapidly, only to find Cammy under the same scrutiny from the male population. She was dealing with it better, however, as she didn't even looked back. Not that she would. Not right now, not after all that had happened to her. He tried to break off this sudden foul mood.  
  
"Hum, well. How was it, at Rose's place? Any progress?" he inquired, although he knew already from Rose herself. So he was a little disturbed when she gave him a strange, disquieting look and a slow nod.  
  
"I came to understand a few important things there." she stated cryptically.  
  
He raised his eyebrows. No explosion. No rant. No despair. There was nothing in her voice that was usual when she came back from one of these sessions. And Rose had told her there'd been no real changes. What could those important things be? He tried to be casual about it, but found himself unable to resist asking.  
  
"Hum, what important things?"  
  
And then she smiled. A shy smile, an uncertain one, but he was but shocked and overjoyed to see it. It had been so rare, these past few weeks, to see her smile, at anything. This act was enough to have him dance on a cloud for the rest of the day, at least! It was a miracle he didn't give off a goofy grin in answer, but glad too; it would have ruined the mood.  
  
"You already know about them." she answered softly.  
  
O-kay, now he REALLY felt confused. Since when did he make any remarquable discovery, anything that seemed important? Well, whatever it was, it musn't have been something that had struck him. Or maybe he wasn't thinking the right way? Arg, nevermind! He thrusted the confusion away as best he could, enjoying her relative good mood. She seemed to await no answer, so he gave none. They walked silently for a while.  
  
Then she stopped, her face giving the impression she was taking some kind of important decision. Left with the choice of stopping or continuing alone, he stopped as well, feeling like some lamb and not caring.  
  
"Do you..." she coughed, stopped.  
  
"Yes?" he prodded gently.  
  
"Do you want to...go out tonight?"  
  
His breath caught for a moment, and he choked, nearly strangling himself. When he could see properly - not to mention speak - he looked back at her, found her staring at him in what could be a mixture of apprehension and amusement. Feeling much like a fool, he flushed in embarassment and found his voice quickly.  
  
"G-g-g-go out? As in...t-t-the two o-of us?" he stammered.  
  
"Yes." her voice no longer seemed hesitant. Her decision seemed made. "Do you want to?"  
  
Did he WANT to?!? Did trees grow? Did the sun rise every morning? He felt like laughing, like crying, like doing something flashy or otherwise ridiculous. But he did nothing of that. He only smiled happily, and nodded. Her own face seemed to flush with emotions he couldn't define right then, and she resumed walking. "Rose told me of a very good place. Let's try it, okay?"  
  
"Sure!"  
  
"Oh, by the way...weren't you going to do breakfast this morning?"  
  
He had completely forgotten that. But he answered readily enough. "I was thinking about pancakes, is that okay?"  
  
She went stiff for amoment, her face taking a vaguely alarmed expression. "Pancakes?" she asked in near-horror.  
  
"Ah well, yes. Why?"  
  
"The last time you tried pancakes, you nearly blew up our room. Or have you forgotten?" she asked ironically.  
  
"Oh. Hehe." he scratched the back of his head, nervously "Err....w-well...eggs...eggs I can do."  
  
"As long as you don't put the eggshells along with the eggs."  
  
He raised his eyebrows in mock indignation. "I'll have you know I make the best scrambled eggs there are! To DARE think I'd stoop so low as to..."  
  
He stopped with a squaking sound when her hand gently took his. He returned the gesture, but was too dumfounded to do more than stare. This was a clear-cut novelty. What was happening to her today?  
  
"Eggs are fine." she said, giving his hand a slight squeeze.  
  
And not for the last time this day, Jeremy Storm nodded, dumbfounded but happy. Surreally happy.  
  
He couldn't wait until tonight.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
That evening...  
  
Rage.  
  
That's what he felt. But not one which burned, or seared the soul. It was one that left one cold and hollow, left one wanting for more. It was an emotion few men would want to live with for too long. No more than a day, never a month. For this was something that offered nothing at all to its holder.  
  
He had been feeling the cold rage for three years, and he loved it, for it defined his being, his purpose and his goals with utter clarity. Some of his goals were noble, he knew it for certain. Some were less so, he was just as certain. They were necessary, however. And that was why he had waited. And was still waiting. He'd heard them talking today. They should be coming out of that building anytime now. Or about. Soon, certainly. Doesn't matter, he'd wait until they showed up. He wanted to look at them more closely. Understand the situation.  
  
He was right. They came out, actually - if hesitantly - holding hands. He emitted a low growl when he saw the man. There was no need for recollection - he had that face engraved into his entire being. This man who should have understood. This man who was led astray and turned away from The Truth.   
  
This man who had nearly killed him with no good reason on his side.  
  
He resisted the urge to attack him, knowing how futile that would be. Never had he been the equal of the guy, even three years ago. And his prey's strength had increased greatly, if the telltale evidence in his movements were any indication. And that girl, that braided girl who walked beside him, wearing wariness but also an almost disgusting happiness, seemed nearly as strong. No, fighting was not an option. Not yet. Not until he had a plan. Today he would just follow. So he did.  
  
It was a relatively frisky evening, but unlike some of the Italian and other foreign passerbies and bystanders, the cold did not bother him. In three years, it had become like an old friend...  
  
He resisted the urge to scream as the two stopped on the way of their destination, pointing this or that way, making comments. The happiness that was underlying each gesture, the damn, slippery, illusiory, crass contentement. Fools, BOTH of them. Happiness was an illusion in this world, couldn't they see that?!? Poor, stupid lost lambs they were. But he calmed down. Watch. Today he would watch.  
  
They finally stopped at a quain little restaurant. They looked at the place - two-storied, white-bricked, cheerful looking - and entered. He had no wish to follow-up. That jerk would recognise him, probably try to kill him again. He wanted to be the one doing the killing. He already had a plant for the other two traitors who had ruined his crusade and his life. But that one was the hardest, and the one he wanted to hurt the most.  
  
A man aproached him from the side, and he flicked an eye towards him. Filthy, in clothes that were patched and had seen better days. Unshaved face, hollow eyes. Someone who had been betrayed by society, like so many other people. He thrust a very weathered hat in his direction, showinf a little bit of money within.  
  
"La carità, por favor, signore." he said humbly.  
  
Charity. Yes he could do that one thing here. He fished in his pockets, got some change out and dumped it into the hat. He continued on without acknowledging the man anymore, feeling the iciness inside of him let up a little. It wouldn't last long, he knew, but at least he could enjoy it a little bit. He went to the nearest café and bought himself some coffee, looking at the nearby patrons without seeming too as he reflected on what he should do. He took out a sheet of paper, looked at it grimly. It had only three names inscribed on it.  
  
Alex Strongarm, Nathan McIntyre, Jeremy Storm  
  
During the past three years, the memories of his past life had faded as the cold, righteous rage took hold of him more and more. But these three people, he had never forgotten. Even when he doubted his own name, he had never forgotten them. These three had brought ruin to whom he had been, by conniving against him, by refusing to see The Truth. He had been betrayed, yes, betrayed by these three.  
  
He would make them pay. And then he could restart his Holy Crusade.  
  
He had already thought about Alex's case. He had examined the man quietly, and had found him too powerful to attack directly, as well. But that mattered little. He had found another way to get to this one. He smiled. A very fitting way, and one that would ultimately fit his purpose for the future. He could hardly wait to act it out.  
  
McIntyre...strangely, he felt the man had already been punished by someone else for something he'd done. A subtle thing, but it was there, under the surface, bidding its time, ready to tear at the man's soul. He was damned and did not even know it yet. A fitting end, he felt. No, nothing against him. He was going to do enough to himself eventually.  
  
But this last one, this Jeremy, he was the most important, the one he had to hurt the deepest. He just hadn't found a way to do so yet  
  
How long did he stare at these pictures? He couldn't realistically say. A while, surely, for by the time he looked away from it, his targets were exiting the restaurant and the patrons in the café were starting to squirm, giving him quick, alarmed looks. They meant nothing. He ignored him. He paid for what he'd taken and left hurriedly. Fortunately, they were walking leisuredly, and he saw Jeremy rub his stomach once or twice. As he watched this, a memory stirred from the nether where he had confined them.  
  
"Oh, man. Every time I eat Italian, my tummy hurts."  
  
"Moron. You should just take something else."  
  
"No way! The taste more than makes up for it!"  
  
The memory fled before he could grasp it, leving behind only a warm and begone wave of happiness that was no longer his. He had cut himself from that. All that mattered now was The Truth. And the Crusade.  
  
They suddenly stopped and started to speak. The area was deserted. Having no wishes to be detected, the man swiftly slunk into the shadows and strained his ears to listen, hoping the conversation would prove informative, or at least entertaining.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
At the same time...  
  
Cammy looked from her indigestion-fighting partner to the street around them. Although her scan was quick and a bit careless, she saw no one. Good, she was nervous enough as it was. She did not want to make a number before a crowd of strangers. Still. she felt she would have done it, to spare them both. She cleared her throat. No effect. The man was probably cursing himself for liking pastas so much right now. So she took the direct approach.  
  
"Jer?" she asked hesitantly.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
She licked her lips, coughed. This was the hard part, the conversation she just didn't want to screw off. But no words came to bring the topic, no good reason seemed to present itself. So she opted for the only thing that might take her into this safely enough.  
  
"I...I heard your conversation with Rose. I'd been back to ask her something and overheard." she blurted.  
  
He stiffened, his face paling and showing definite anxiety. His stomach problems most probably forgotten, he gave her an hesitant grin and turned away, walking away a few steps, taking deep breaths. Cammy bit her lip, knowing the battle was on right this moment.  
  
"Was it true?" she asked. "What you said?"  
  
Still he gave no answer, but looked elsewhere, anywhere but at her. But she had to make things clear, she owed him this.  
  
"Do you really...r-really love me like you said?" she asked again, trying to bring the quaver of her voice off.  
  
Another fit of rigidity. The man put an hand on his face and exhaled, seemingly at a loss. She wished to say more, to force something from him, but decided against it. He had to answer something if she was to continue with this unstable discussion. She tried not to show nervousness as he collected himself. He finally turned to her again, trying to keep his face expressionless. He needn't have bothered, for the anguish was ever-present.  
  
"I...everything I said...its..." he choked "Its all true." he paused, his lips quivering "I-if you don't agree, if y-you don't feel that way - why should you, after all, I punched you once, r-r-remember? I'm so sorry about that - anyway, I'll...I'll understand." That was nothing but a blaring lie, but knowing him, she knew it must have cost him everything to tell that last sentence. She looked at him, shocked for a moment, and then a strange thing happened. Anger, joy and sorrow combined and she stepped forward and slapped him lightly.  
  
"Y-you stupid..." she said, holding back the tears, "What the hell do you think I am? You think I CARE about that lousy punch? Yes, you're right, I do remember you punching me. And it hurt me like HELL inside. I felt like I was nothing!" his face turned away, but she reached out and cupped it, forcing him to look at her. She had to let this out while her voice remained steady "But I remember other things, too, more important things! I remember a young man smiling at me when others in SCD still treated me either like a Shadowlaw agent or, worse, as a doll. I remember someone who treated me like I human being when I wasn't even sure of it myself. I...I remember a soothing, caring voice when I came back from that Shadowlaw lab." she sniffled "I r-r-remember...I remember a man who was there, when I woke up terrified, a man who just cared, who didn't think less of me, who helped me get better! I loved that man!" she closed her eyes, her throat dry, her eyes full of tears. "That man was you, Jeremy!"  
  
She let her head fall down and let the flood of emotions file out. She was glad she had said this. It had hurt, it had been so very hard, but she had wanted to say this for so long. She didn't see Jer's expression in the end, but she felt him tremble, then take hold of her hands with fingers that normally were deft and quick, but were right now weak, shaking and hesitant. She opened her eyes to see that he, too, was crying.  
  
"I..."  
  
He stopped as a sob tore through him. He stilled it with all of his will, and finally managed to speak again.  
  
"When I learned that Bison had taken you again, I...I didn't know what to d-do. All I could think about was that the bastard had taken you, and I was nowhere near to help you, all of that because of a stupid wounded pride! I should have been there for you!"  
  
She gave his hands a squeeze. "Bison would have killed you, if you'd been there. And then I'd actually have WANTED to be a doll again, because life would have been damn unbearable."  
  
He shook his head "Still, I only though that...that I'd failed you. I'd let you go without a fight, without hope. I wanted to kill the bastard right then, but I hated myself far more." he his face crumbled completely then. The proud, strong warrior let go of his last inhibitions, revealing a very young man who had felt far too much in his life. "When I saw what they'd done..it was...i-i-if he ever lays a finger on you again, I'll kill Bison. I-I-I don't c-care how strong he is, I-I-I'll find a way...t-t-to..."  
  
That's when she heard this heartfelt vow, this tearful confession, that something snapped within Cammy White. The love she had felt until now surged through her, making her forget her past pains, her past sorrows. Nervously, with gentleness, she disengaged her hands, brought his face closer, and kissed him, pressing her lips against his. There was a fixed moment when there was no response, but then he gave a shuddering sigh, and kissed her back, his own arms encircling her waist and giving her a loving hug that she returned as best she could, feeling the warmth coming from him even throught her coat. Finally they broke the kiss, but their embrace remained.  
  
Jeremy looked at her with caring grey eyes that shone with unshed tears. "Cammy, don't...don't leave me again."  
  
She tightened her hug a little. "I'll try not to...my love."  
  
How strange these two words felt. She'd never spoken them before, to any man. No one had ever made that close, that intimate a bond with her before. Yes, these words were strange.  
  
But they were so very fitting. For tonight she felt fully human again for the first time.  
  
Tonight, she had found back her soul.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Five minutes later...  
  
The man was making his way out of the area where the two new lovers were. He was completely disgusted. He'd heard just about everyword, and had gagged at some of the sentences. What foolish, sentimental nonsense! What a weakling the man - his own cousin, no? - had become. And that woman! No better. What rubbish and ridicule. Love! Fah! Illusiory nonsense that may fool such people, but not him. For he knew The Truth.  
  
And The Truth was all.  
  
Love. It didn't stop the betrayals. Only violence did. Love was peace, and peace was an illusion. But there was some good to it, no? If Jeremy believed in what he was feeling, he might leave himself open. And that would give him the chance he needed. No longer would he play by the faded rules that had bound him three years ago.  
  
A lifetime ago.  
  
He smiled a cold smile. "Relish what remains of your reprieve, Betrayer." he said icily "The time will soon come for True Justice." Oh yes. It would happen. Not yet, not yet.  
  
But soon.  
  
Oh, yes, soon.  
  
_______________________________________________________________  
  
Hello! Hope you'll like this chap! Its sappy, I know, but I just had to put that part in! So, Cammy and Jeremy are finally lovers! What do you say about it? Please give me feedback, guys, I'd love to know your opinion!   
  
Next chapter: A new war. A deepening relationship and a new one! Stay tuned, its gonna be a blast! ^_^  
  
Jeremy 


	22. Chapter 19

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 19  
  
January 14, 1998  
  
It was lightly snowing over London, and the people who walked down its proud historic streets felt more than content with their lot. And why shouldn't they? They had just come out from two weeks of joyous festivities and were full of hopeful dreams for the present year. England was safe and sound, politically and economically enjoying stability and even a bit of prosperity. There was no doubt to the everymen and everywomen that there should be no problem on the horizon and, at least, that it wouldn't affect them it there ever was one.  
  
Unfortunately, some other people were not that hopeful for the future of England - or the world for that matter - and two people in particular were showing the signs of definite restlessness and anxious anger. Both were dressed in formal business suits and both were unused to them. One was an Asian woman, athletic, bombastic, vehement in her comments, while the other one was a man, tall and strong, who spoke with a Spanish accent. He was showing a more moderate tone, but it was clear that he largely agreed with the angrier lady.  
  
"This plan of Wolfman is completely unrealistic!!" she was fairly ranting "The systematic raids on Circle interests and bases will cause untold underground turmoil. If he'd just considered the situation a little more..."  
  
"Wolfman didn't want it to come to this, I'd say, Chun ," mused the man, "He wanted an increase of activity against the Circle, but the higher-ups and generals threw this out of proportions. Still, there may be some advantage to it."  
  
She shook her head impatiently, but her tone was weary now. "No need to play the optimist, Castillo. We both know that there will be some benefit from having a powerful organization like MI6 taking on the Circle. It'll be a battle of titans, and it'll cause the other underground organizations to keep still for a while. But that'll be only temporary." her friend tried to say something, but she cut him off. "Let's say MI6 gets a limited success, which it might. The Circle will lie broken, its resources scattered and its holdings ripe for the taking."  
  
"Ripe to being swallowed up by other organizations, other large ones."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of." she admitted.  
  
"And you might be right to fear it." retorted Giorgio gravely.  
  
She looked at him hard, sensing something in his word. She'd been friend with the man for years, and knew he never made idle statements about conspiracies and underground operations. "What do you mean by that?"  
  
"We raided a Shadowlaw base not long ago." he explained "We didn't get much data on their activities, no, but we had a....let's say 'helper'...who told us that she'd seen a man talking to Bison. Black-garbed, very neutral. A guy who didn't seem to be cowering before the Master of Shadowlaw. Quite a feat he? Anyway, we cross-checked and came up with a very interesting name..."  
  
"Everick."  
  
He raised an eyebrow and gave an appreciating smile. "Know him, don't you? Eh, amiga?"  
  
She snorted. "Who doesn't? On the streets, they call him the ShadowWalker. There's not a darn bum around the Western sphere - and very few on the Eastern - that wouldn't pee if they heard the guy was paying him a visit. After all, he's one of the Circle's..." she stopped, then slowly put an hand on her forehead. "Oh, please tell me you're not serious."  
  
He crossed his arms, looking right and left to see if no one was eavesdropping on them. Although they stood in the middle of one of the safest place in the entire British Commonwealth, they couldn't allow themselves to be careless. What had happened to the SCD Headquarters had proven that one could be hit or spied on anywhere, even in the places it should be impossible to. There was no one either could see, so Giorgio kept on the conversation  
  
"Think about what's happened. A spy sent to SCD from a region that Shadowlaw virtually controls. The Circle attack just after that, sent from Limerick. Against, I might say the Elders' wishes and most likely, their knowledge."  
  
"How do you know all this?" she inquired.  
  
He became grave, almost sullen at the question, as if visited by a very nasty memory. He turned away from a moment, sighed, and turned back with a blank impression that made Chunli shiver inwardly.  
  
"The traitor was very cooperative in telling us all that she knew before she died." he said stiffly. He left it at that and she decided not to push. It would be unwise, very unwise, she knew. "Anyway, that means there's a possible arrangement between Shadowlaw and some of the Circle. I'd say that with the influence of Limerick joining them, they'd gain at least a third of the other holdings in that organization when the dust settled."  
  
She didn't like this. Not one bit. But she couldn't deny the logic. It all fit, it could definitely happen and it all frightened her. "With such resources, Shadowlaw..."  
  
"Would have footholds just about everywhere." he finished, nodding. "Chun, keep the pressure on them, anything Interpol can do. SCD will give semblance of help to MI6, but we'll give more help fighting Bison right now...at least until a strike against Limerick."  
  
She was actually glad for the change of subject. The conversation was getting too depressing at the moment. "How's the SCD recovery, by the way?"  
  
He scratched his head, coughed. "Almost complete. Julia became the new official Head ten days ago, and we've stabilized our position around the world. Morale is steadily climbing back up, and we're restarting our usual operations."  
  
"I take it there's a new defense system?" she mused.  
  
"You said it, amiga. Mark worked hard on that one, spent nearly all his time checking, testing, making sure everything fit. More than once, I ordered Steve or Jeremy or Cammy to drag the guy to bed before he worked himself to madness." he smiled "Believe me, there won't be any other attack on HQ like we had, traitor or not."  
  
"That's good to hear. Very good." she said sincerely, then smiled in turn "I also heard something else. Seems like the two agents you were so exasperated about finally made up."  
  
He looked at her in surprise. "Where'd you hear THAT?? Never mind, I don't think I want to know. Still, you're right. They danced and danced around a relationship for months, then Cammy gets hauled back to Shadowlaw. We get her back and there they were, dancing again! I wanted that settled, so I sent them on vacation together and, voilà! They're committed now. In fact, sometimes its hard to see one without seeing the other about. But its far better than their dancing."  
  
She looked out the nearest window, watching the snow float down, down to the ground far below. "Hard to believe this is the same girl who seemed like a robot the last time I saw her."  
  
"Si. But people change. And in this case, it was for the best."   
  
She gave him a sly look. "I always knew you had a soft spot for blondes. You always look as if you wish to lift their skirts up."  
  
He gave a look of mock-indignation. "Harrumph. I get no respect. And I can guarantee I wouldn't even think of it with her. She'd break my arm and Jer would break the other. I like my arms the way they are, thank you!"  
  
She gave an amused giggle, then looked at her watch. "Well, time to go back home for me. Take care my friend."  
  
Giorgio's face was serious again. "Just remember, Chunli. Don't let up on them. They'll make a move. Bison's not going to miss such a chance and we both know that."  
  
She nodded. "I'll so my best."  
  
"In that case, there's hope for the world yet."  
  
And with that, two friends and warriors separated, both going back to their lives, both filled with a feeling. A feeling that would grow quickly into an absolute certainty, and later into undisputable fact:  
  
This is one conflict they would never forget.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Three days later...  
  
A man moved through the streets of a suburb near Marseilles. It was night, pitch black, with no moon. Clouds covered even the stars, and the humidity level showed that it threatened to rain at any given moment. Not a time people would choose to be outdoors for the fun of it. But that wasn't the reason the man was here. He had a mission to fulfill. A dangerous one, that required infiltration. And infiltration was so much easier when it was a dark night such as this.  
  
But then again, Albert Desmarais had always thought the night an old friend of his.  
  
This was his first mission, his first test, for the SCD organization. He'd been picked out by an Elite that went by the name of Tyrone, a man who had died in the HQ Battle. He knew why: athletic, intelligent, and yearning for adventure, he must have caught the man's eye, especially since he had great fighting skills and more-than-modest marksmanship skills. No wonder the organization had picked him for the job of replacing Tyrone. He was the best, after all!  
  
"Wolf Two, you in position?" came the uncertain voice of the team leader, a young SCD Elite named Kelly. The voice had more than its share of nervousness, and Albert gritted his teeth. What had possessed SCD to accept such an insecure fool within its Elite, anyway?  
  
"Repeat, you in position?" came the voice again, slightly less nervous, but not much more.  
  
"Yes, I'm in position." he answered a trifle impatiently, although that wasn't the whole truth. He was NEAR his position, that was certain, but he wasn't exactly at it, because he found that his place was bad idea. He reviewed the plan, absently musing that this original action, taking on the gate guards around the mansion, might not be that good.  
  
"Wolf Three, how about hostiles?" asked Kelly.  
  
"Nothing on radar. Coast clear." came the deep male voice of Lewis Glosshouse, another recruit, a spidery individual who was an apparent natural marksman but an eccentric man of girlish follies. He paid no more attention to them, preferring to revise the mission briefing.  
  
About ten terrorists had taken hold of a mid-level hydrogen bomb, enough to blast the southwestern area of Marseilles, cost between thirty and fifty thousand lives. Terrorists cornered inside small walled mansion, armed and dangerous. Advise caution from operatives. No microwave link from HQ.   
  
So they were on their own, and from the little he'd been told, that meant he could change the parameters a bit. The gate guards might see him, and give off the alarm. Elite Agent Cammy White had assured them that this possibility was minimal enough that the risk could be undertaken, but the risk still existed. However, he'd seen that the western wall was clear of any sentries. A few seconds of climbing, and he could take the guards by surprise. He made his decision.  
  
"Wolf Two, changing position." he whispered and quickly followed the wall, hefting his riffle in his hand for better acceleration.  
  
"What?" exclaimed the team leader, who hesitated a moment "De...denied! Return to original position, Wolf Two!"  
  
He didn't answer, continuing along the wall. That Kelly and her nervousness, what a waste of space she could be. He didn't want to haggle and the situation didn't call for it. It was time for decisions, not jittery hesitations. He kept on, making as little noise as possible but picking up speed. He came to the corner, rounded it...  
  
And came face to face with a figure. He hadn't switched on his infrared goggles because of the lighting given by street poles, but saw that something long was suddenly pointed towards him! A sentry, outside! His mind froze, and he brought his riffle to bear and squeezed out a round. The sentry twitched on impact, gave a muffled, wet groan, and fell backward. Inside the compound, he heard shouts, and movements. He cursed, the alarm had been given.  
  
"Wolf Two, report!" came Kelly's voice.  
  
"I'm okay, " he said grudgingly, switching his infrareds on. "There was a sentry here and I..." he trailed off has he looked down.  
  
Flat on his back in front of him was a man of maybe forty years old, a bag of groceries near him, items askew. In his dead, clutching hand was an umbrella, closed, an umbrella that had been swung instinctively when a stranger had made a sudden appearance right in front of him. He stared at the corpse for a moment, blinking in shock. What was that guy doing here, anyway? he thought in befuddlement. He was still staring when the image went shakily, then every thing went black.  
  
After a moment of blackness, he sighed and removed his VR helmet and looked around.  
  
They were inside the white room that SCD used to run simulations and tests. All white, and pierced only by a large bay window from which officers studied the simulations and a large metallic door that pierced a wall. There was nothing else, nothing but VR helmets and suits, and two other people attired like he, who had removed their helm and were looking at him,one in near-shame, one in searing annoyance.  
  
"What the fuck did you do, Desmarais?" grumbled Glosshouse, flicking a red bang of hair out of his round, small face.  
  
"Ta geule." growled Albert, not wishing for the man's jibes right now. "I only did the thing that HQ didn't think about and..."  
  
"And screwed up as bad as you could make it!"  
  
They hadn't noticed the doors opening, but they had, and in came Cammy White, looking anything but pleased. They all stood at attention the moment they saw her, Kelly pale-faced and nervous as a mouse, Lewis a bit more confident, but no less worried Even Albert, for all of his personal pride and his bravado, couldn't help but cringe a bit at the terse disapproval and flat-out disgust they saw in her scowling face. She fairly stalked her way to them.  
  
"If we had a prize called The Worst Simulation Ever, I'd make sure you'd win it." she spat fiercely as way of introducing the matter. "That was the worstly maintained operation I've ever seen by people of this organization, and I've seen a FEW!"  
  
"Ma'am..." coughed Kelly, who stopped as soon as soon as White's burning eyes set on her. Dark eyes that brook no interruption.  
  
"Agent Larchand, when I ask you to give comments you may speak. Right now I'm asking you to shut the hell up!" she jerked a finger at her. "First, let me say that for a tried and tested SCD Elite, I've found your handling of the operation completely acceptable. These are your men, you command them. FORCE them to listen when they do something, don't start hesitating like a six-year old who wants to act some grown-up a favor! Understood?"  
  
"Y...yes ma'am." she said unsteadily. Cammy looked at her a few moments more, letting her fidget, then turned to Lewis.   
  
"As for you, mister Glosshouse, I'm mighty glad you're no my partner. A mission like this and you gave lame reports. Kelly had to pry the comments out of you! In the field, the radar guy gives CONSTANT UPDATES!" Lewis tried to hold her gaze and quickly failed, hanging his head down a little and apologizing, promising that this would not happen again. She appeared unconvinced, but let him go.  
  
Then Albert had his turn. She looked at him, and her hardened, scowling face became even darker. He wondered how such a woman, who stood no taller than five feet five, could make such an impression on everyone, and put a paralyzing fear into many. Only a few Elites, like Castillo, Simmons or Storm, seemed to be impervious to it.  
  
"As for you," she stated, her voice suddenly colder than an iceberg. "I'm more than tempted to throw you out of HQ this instant! There are lines we DO NOT CROSS in SCD!! One of them happens to be OPENING FIRE ON DEFENSELESS CIVILIANS! You've got a lot to learn if you think we accept people like YOU, who just change things around and make fatal mistakes that cost innocent lives, not to mention a mission!"  
  
Albert wasn't used to being talked that way. No one had ever dared before: he'd been intelligent and powerful, respected. To see an arrogant BIMBO talk to him as if he was a child proved to much, and his mouth open in retaliation.  
  
"Listen here, miss, that civilian wasn't supposed to be there! Its his own fault if...guk!"  
  
His voice was cut off as White grabbed him by the front of his suit with a strength that far exceeded her size and brought him at eye level. The eye-to-eye meeting wasted all wishes he had for confrontation as far as he was concerned. Never did he want to meet eyes that nasty again. She let go of him and he stumbled a bit, feeling humbled and ashamed. She waved at the entranced.  
  
"Get off those suits and go get some rest. Make sure the next time you do a simulation, to do it right. Kelly knows there are those who are far worse critiques than me." with that, she stalked out of the room.  
  
Albert couldn't help but try to regain some of his bravado. "Ah, come on! Nothing can be worse than that maudite femme!" he said.  
  
"That's because you never had Simmons or Castillo test you." Kelly stated softly. Both men looked at her.  
  
"What, they're THAT bad?!?" asked Lewis incredulously.  
  
She gave them an hard look that told it all. "They were. Hope Giorgio isn't the one manning the controls next time around."  
  
It was two highly anxious recruits that made their way back to their place that evening.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Five minutes later...  
  
It was a smiling, chuckling Mark Culhen who watched as Cammy returned to the control room to gather her things. She hadn't cooled down much, if he was any judge of the stiff way she held herself. Not that he found anything wrong with what she said or did - these three had really messed things up. It was the way she did so that merited something. Not arguing, he'd never win in that case. But he certainly in the mood for a little teasing. The past months, after all, have been so gloomy.  
  
She entered, saw him, and shot him a glare that still contained quite a bit of bristling anger. He was wholefully unaffected, only answering with an amused mien.  
  
"Quite the chew-out there, Cammy." he stated jokingly "Ye know, ye could've just pointed guns at their heads and told them 'Do better next time' the way ye just scared the hell out of them."  
  
She huffed, obviously too upset yet to relax. She looked as if she though his words were what he meant. He knew that it wasn't really true, that she knew he was just kidding really. However, to take things everything seriously was still something she tended to do. After all, even a miracle can't cure everything in a flash.  
  
And, as far as he and most of the others were concerned, some kind of miracle HAD happened while Cammy and Jeremy were off on a rather ORDERED vacation. What had transpired there, during these two months of leave, he knew little and dared even less to guess. The fact was that when she had left, bare weeks after her ordeal at Shadowlaw, they'd seen a woman barely holding herself together and two months later, they saw a rejuvenated lass. Gone was the hesitation - although traces still remained for some personal things. Gone was the hollowness, the uncertainty. The Cammy White that had returned was bossy, opinionated, direct and had one abrasive tongue. At first stunned, they had quickly found themselves liking this new personality, that according to Joan was far more in touch with how the braided agent had been like, before Shadowlaw first got hold of her.   
  
"I went easy on them. Of all the ops I've seen SCDs do, and all the successes, I'd think we'd get more intelligent, organized sims. But NO, stupidity instead." she growled.  
  
"We have our lots of failures." he reminded her, still grinning "Everyone here did his share of those."  
  
She gave an impatient gesture. "Failures maybe, but nothing like the things I've just watched." her face hardened "Demarais. Did you review what he did just now in the simulation? Did you see it all?"  
  
His grin faded at that, his face turning grim, even sour. This was a point that he found absolutely no light to shine on. "I did see it. He changed the operation without good reason, refused to follow Kelly's orders and worst of all..." he trailed, sighing "He's not Tyrone, that's fer damn certain, lass."  
  
"He's a bloody arrogant, short-sighted, I'm-always-right fool and we both know it, Mark." she spat. "If it was just me, I'd boot him out right this minute, he'll bring nothing but trouble. He doesn't get along with the other newbies, doesn't take orders well, never thinks that others can have a good idea except he..."  
  
"Now YOU'RE a fine one to talk, Cammy." exclaimed a voice, cutting off the ranting litany of wrongs. Recognizing it instantly, he turned his head and waved, his good humor returning.  
  
"Watch it, lad. She's full of venom right now. Might get hit by some." he cautioned.  
  
Whatever Jeremy might have to that said remained a mystery, for the athletic, braided SDC Elite rounded on the newcomer with renewed vigor. In fact, with too much vigor. "What the bloody hell are you saying here?" she said, but the dangerous edge was gone from her voice, giving a sharp reminder that there was a second half to the miracle.  
  
Even months before the tragic events of Cammy's abduction and the battle at the Headquarters, it had been clear that there was something going on between the two. First assumed to be a form of friendship, it had become clear to everyone present that it went deeper than that. Mark had been reluctant to call it love, partly because he had trouble with the then-much less emotional Cammy allowing such feelings into her. It had stopped when he'd had the uncomfortable discussion with a Jeremy going mad with guilt and worry. That and the fact that he'd waited by her bed the first few days, when she'd been sedated and nearly whimpering with horrendous nightmares. The care, the tenderness Mark had glimpsed had convinced him that it was love, at least on his part.   
  
When they came back from that vacation, it was clear that it was two-sided, reciprocal. Cammy rarely spoke harshly to him, even when she was angry, whereas all the other males had to run for cover. She curbed her bossy traits in front of him and always seemed willing to take his opinions seriously. But that wasn't what had really showed it.  
  
What showed the love was the smiles she gave him, she who rarely even grinned yet to others. That and the way her face seemed to change, and become softer, gentler with a new light in these blue eyes. If that wasn't love, well then he wasn't Scottish, and the Culhens had adopted him, there.  
  
He saw that look now resurfacing on her face, hard at work blotting out the indignation that had been there mere moments before. The man himself had none of the rougher looks he usually wore while on SCD duty. Mark coughed.  
  
"I'm going to look up the mission files here." he said, turning to a computer in all haste.  
  
"What did you mean?" she asked again, ignoring Mark entirely. He felt the other man shift.  
  
"Well, you are bossy." he enumerated slowly. "And loud. And easy to annoy, and..."  
  
"Watch it." she growled, but there was a lighter hint to it.  
  
"And one more thing!" said Jeremy in a booming, triumphant voice."You look beautiful when you're pissed off."  
  
Mark could have slapped his face when he heard this. He looked at the various mission files and found their team's. He scanned through it quickly, then raised his eyebrows. This was an interesting little mission. Should be a piece of cake for these two. He found it had been given to them by Julia herself - so they were starting watching Shadowlaw right now, huh? He sensed Giorgio's hand in this, and grinned.  
  
"Hoy, lads!" he called.  
  
"Beautiful enough to kiss, in fact." said Jeremy.   
  
"Then do that." Cammy suggested innocently.  
  
"NAY! NO WAY! NO HOW! N-O!" Mark shouted, whirling on them both, startling them out of their little trance. "When ye're on the airplane to Sydney ye can do all sort of romantic foolishness but a situation where I'm stuck with two teammates who're busy kissing like high school kids is something I completely REFUSE to visualize!"  
  
They both blinked, looking a little sheepish. Cammy was the one who broke the uncomfortable silence. "Sidney."  
  
"Right. You just received a new mission. You're off visiting Australia." he gave them a little smirk. "A piece of cake for the two of you, but its all part of Giorgio and Julia's plan."  
  
"Ah. So we're going to do some damage to a Shadowlaw place to show them the Commonwealth is still looking their way too."  
  
"That won't be enough to prevent what Bison may do once its all over." Jeremy added, looking grim.  
  
"No, but it will stall them. And right now, with SCD still unsteady and MI6 gearing up to go after the Circle, that's about all this place can do for now." he crossed his arms. "We're going to be nothing more than wasps for a little while. However, lets do all the damage we can, so that it stings!"  
  
"I'm all for that!" said Cammy, with a cold smile. But that was a taken. Anything that had to do with pissing off Shadowlaw or Bison or both was something she immediately endorsed with enthusiasm. Jeremy looked at the monitor, scanning the mission.  
  
"Huh, so I'm going to see a bunch of Skippies, huh?" he snickered. At their bemused looks, he just gave a slight wave "Don't bother to try and understand. Its just a an old joke from North America, nothing of big consequence. 'Disrupt Shadowlaw lines in Sydney.' Easy money, perfect for a bunch of thugs like us, heh?"  
  
Mark groaned. "Just make sure to do the mission before you get your hang on fighting."  
  
Jeremy gave a look of semi-indignation, semi-amusement. "When have I ever put pleasure before business."  
  
Mark threw up his hands and made his way to the door. "Frequently!" He groaned. Oh well, let them have their fun.  
  
Things might get serious soon enough, after all...  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Hours later...  
  
Nightlife in downtown London was a far cry from the stereotypical view people elsewhere in the world had of the polite, respectful English. When day became night, young men and woman gathered, coming in groups of twos, three fours or more, with a few loners thrown into the mix. Bars and discos opened full swing, and life, a very free-handed, naive and sometimes debauched kind of life, took rein of certain parts of the ancient capital. It was a time to live without the pressure of adults and the embarrassment of inhibitive socialities.  
  
That was what the eighteen year old Laureen Blackburn though at least, and as far as she was concerned, when she went out, only her opinion counted. Her friends knew that well. Maybe that was why she had so few who wanted to party with her, for she certainly spoke her mind a little too much on such times. Tonight, for example, even her best friends, Henry and Francesca, had given her some excuses and forced her to come to this little disco-bar by herself. Well, their loss, not hers. After all, she'd just found and spent a great night with an handsome young man.  
  
She'd already gotten at least three drinks inside of her, so she supposed she wouldn't have been so overt normally. After all, she came from a family of teachers, people with intuition, and she didn't lack in that advantage herself. There was something strange about him when she'd first approached him, that had sent faint alarms jingling in her head. But then he'd given her a nice, warm smile, and her giddiness had had the upper hand. Screw the alarms, she'd wanted to have some fun tonight! So she sat down next to him and started to talk. Soon she learned some things about the guy.  
  
His name was Thomas Storm. He was from the United States, from the State of Maine. He was taking a year of his time to study and get back to the roots of his goals. Tonight, he said, was some kind of field day for him. She didn't get everything he said straight - she had downed two more drinks by the time he'd finished - but she was certain of those parts because he'd been extremely adamant about this.  
  
"Sooo...yershum...you're some kinda...soshial guy?" she asked, her speech slurred by alcohol. Maybe she should stop drinking, heh?  
  
His answer was quite sober, however, which meant the drink in his hands was most likely the first. "Of a sort. I'm more like a preacher of sortys, trying to cleanse people of their sins."  
  
"Awww, religion!" she giggled. A would-be monk, was he? Or just a very faithful guy. Who cared about which, it was interesting and that was enough for her. "T'me , t'sounds like ye want ta do a big thing, lika crusade, huh?" was she making sense at all? That didn't sound right. But it got his attention alright. His eyes seemed to come alive at the word 'crusade'.  
  
"Yes." he said "That's it. A one-man crusade." he stated, more to himself. She took it as approval, however, and continued on.  
  
"You must be really driven to do that." she continued.  
  
"Its more than that. My life revolves on these principles." he retorted gently. "The principals of Truth, Trust and Betrayal, upon which so much of the world depends, although people might not know and often do not."  
  
"Whoa, that's deep." in fact the remaining sober part of her brains told her it wasn't such a deep thing and that, in fact, the way he said it had a certain nastiness to it. "Well, you wont..feind any prob widde me, I've alwayje kept my promishes."  
  
"That's very good!" he said, lifting his glass. He seemed perky all of a sudden. This time the alarm bell rang louder, but her brain was now to soaked to decide much. So she annoyingly quelled the danger, taking a pensive pose, unwitting that most of her intelligence was now dulled out. There was something that had struck her, something that might give the man some thought. She concentrated on the bellowing music, watched the drinkers and dancers, and finally hit upon it.  
  
"That'ch right!" she exclaimed, giggling. He looked at her in curiosity.  
  
"I think you've drunk way too much." he stated, trying to take the glass away. She jerked her hand back almost angrily. She was going to have fun whether people liked it or not. And she WAS having fun drinking, SO THERE!  
  
"Keep yer paws offa mah booze! Lishen," she told him, leaning closer. "Watche gonna do when yer dead? You gotta leave shomeone to...well...get on with it ye know! A leg-lerg....legachy!" she finally exclaimed triumphantly.  
  
"A living legacy." he started, leaning back and looking right into space. He stroke his chin, obviously taken by the idea. He then smiled.  
  
There was little that can get through a drunk person's dulled senses to the sensible core of being, but that smile managed it somehow. There was not a bit of the warmth that had been there when he'd first welcomed her, none of the passion. There was nothing but a coldness that went beyond words, and something that hinted at more horrible feelings. It hit her then, where it would have done far before had she been sober: this was a dangerous man.  
  
It was a fleeting impression, but it lasted, even when the warmth returned, even when he told her the idea was excellent. Something told her to leave, to get the hell out, now. But her body couldn't move as well as it should have been able to, and she stumbled, tripping. She would have fallen, but suddenly the man was there, beside her, supportive. She hadn't even seen him move.  
  
"You really have drunk too much. Let me walk you out of here, to get some fresh air." he proposed, gentle and solicitous.  
  
She didn't buy it. Didn't buy the tone anymore, or the gentleness. All fake, a wolf drawing in a sheep in. She started to babble something, an excuse, a warning, anything to get out of immediate range, but before she could, another voice came through. A very familiar, very sober voice, that sounded not just vaguely irritated.  
  
"Well, here you are! I should've known you'd get yourself in a mess! Henry's sent me here to check. Shouldn't have bothered. You're such a waste space when you want to 'party', darlin'!"  
  
She looked up from a fuzzy floor to a face she knew well, had known for over five years. Francesca. Dear old, black-haired, hawk-nosed Francesca, who always seemed to be angry at something or some one but never meaning any harm to anyone. A girl with a lot of bark but no bark. Normally she'd be annoyed that her party was about to be cancelled, but with all the booze inside her and, mostly, because of the weird preaching guy holding her right now, she really didn't mind it.  
  
"Francie...glad ta see ya..." she said, but her dulled sense didn't allow her to speak over the din of the place anymore. All that was heard was a drunken mumble, and her friend reacted accordingly.  
  
"That's just great!! You're drunk!! Come on darlin', lets get your stupid behind to bed!! Was she a nuisance to you, sir?"  
  
"Actually, not really. Although I was at a loss what to do with her." said Thomas smoothly, gently. "Now that you are here, however, things are looking up. I'll haul the dame around with you. You got a car?"  
  
He asked it so innocently, it would have taken a very good judge of men to doubt the sincerity that emanated from him. Even she would've believed it, if it wasn't for the smile she had seen, that smile that seemed to cold to be normal, too obsessive. Francesca had never been a good judge of men, took some things at face value, and didn't see the smile. She wanted to say something to her, warn her somehow, but before she could get words past the dry, pasty thing that her mouth was becoming, she felt something at the back her her head, where he helped her steady. It was small discharge, and it probably wouldn't have done much more than daze her a little had she been all right.  
  
But she wasn't. And the daze added up with the drinking, and she found herself drifting, giggling. She heard the remainder of the conversation from a distant viewpoint, her fears now pushed just on the horizon of counsciousness.  
  
"That girl...are you certain its alright with you, sir?"  
  
"Oh, absolutely." she felt herself being carried, her vision dimmed. The disco and its occupants seemed like fading dreams or such, ghosts of a begone era. She giggled again. It annoyed her friend - her dear, naive, well-meaning friend.  
  
"Ah she's out of it. Are you certain you don't mind, sir?"  
  
"No! I owe her, in fact. Gave me a great idea a while ago. There's just one thing I have to do before that, to make sure I can get the ball rolling with my projects and her idea."  
  
"Oh? And that is?" asked Francesca absently.  
  
They were out of the disco now, into the foggy night, walking. Out of the noise, out of most light and, a small part of her counsciousness realized - idiot, idiot idiot - why did you talk with him any way? - that they were far from help. She felt him shift her in his arms, tensing as if for receiving a blow. Or giving one...  
  
"Ah, well, just getting rid of an obstacle, is all." he said, but the voice was cold. Very cold. And more than that. It was insane. And before anything else happened that night, Laureen realized two very simple things.  
  
She should have stayed home. And something BAD was about to happen. And not wishing to meet it, she let herself go into a drink-induced sleep, embracing the calming nothingness.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
A few hours later...  
  
Nathan McIntyre had been beaten to an inch of his life, he'd supported months of therapy, and fought down the fear and the helplessness that his shattered body inspired in him, and endured the jibes and contemptuous stares the came from those who didn't realize it could have been there in that alley, years ago. He had toughened his mind to it all and had willed himself to carry on. He had thought of himself as someone who could go forward no matter what the odds were.  
  
So why couldn't he go see a girl when he ached to do so so MUCH?!?  
  
Simple: because that girl was Area, a girl he'd fallen for utterly. He was scared of being a figure of ridicule in front of her, and waste this, their first face-to-face meeting. No, screw that. He was afraid his mangled appearance would revolt her, that she'd turn away from him. A great part of his mind, the intelligent part of course, told him that he was being a fool, and he believed it. Yet there was something that nagged him from the back of his head. Yeah, that and that headache that's been trailing him for months, ever since he'd saved that guy in the backstreet.  
  
"Why are you making excuses for yourself, you damn fool?" he whispered "She won't turn away from you. She loves you. Like you love her." he was busily trying to convince himself of that as he made his way to the café they'd fixed as their rendez-vous point. He was in sight now. Big, white-washed place with lots of windows, with the name Star Cream in blue neons. Light blazed from the aforementioned windows, and he easily distinguished the people inside. He spotted her as he pushed the doors and entered.  
  
She was sitting at a table next to one of the windows, looking outside with a look that seemed both angry and terrified. She wore no glasses - ah yes, she wore contact lenses for special occasions. Her blonde hair was tied in a single ponytail instead of the two he'd seen on the photograph. Dressed in a blue cotton blouse and pants, she really looked like someone else. But he knew he could never mistake that face, that mouth, those eyes. He stood a bit transfixed, silently gazing. That's when she looked towards him, by accident, just scanning around quickly. She also recognized him at once, and smiled in - could it be? - relief, and waved gently. He started to smile then, a foolish grin, an happy one, and answered by a slight gesture as he made his way to her.  
  
They stared at each other for a moment, ill-at-ease, nervous. Then she spoke, her light voice showing the relief she had worn on her face.  
  
"Hi. I was afraid..you'd forgotten." she said.  
  
"Never!" he exclaimed. Some patrons turned their heads his way and he lowered his voice. "I could never forget. I'm so glad to see you face-to-face at last."  
  
"Yes. So am I." there was so much bright sincerity in her voice. Brightness, innocence, that's what he felt from her. How long had it been, he wondered, when such quality could truly have been attributed to him. Years, certainly. Far too long, by any means. He was now a man of bitterness and depreciation. He knew that quite well, and to be truthful he hated it. However, he saw no way to be different.  
  
She looked at him brightly, her eyes twinkling. "Well are you gonna stand here all night? Sit down, we have so much to talk about!"  
  
His face flushed as he saw that, indeed, he was standing next to the table like a true idiot, and sat down - always favoring his shattered leg - in front of her. He then gave her the brightest smile he'd given in months.  
  
"I've dreamed of this moment." he said simply.  
  
"So have I."  
  
The romantic moment passed, and eventually the tone became more clinical - the talks of two geniuses who were always comparing ideas, always making plans. But the tone, although highly mental, was always impregnated with fondness and gently growing affection. A talk of geniuses, true, but mostly at talk of geniuses who cared for each other.  
  
"So you think you can put together a new kind of internet?" she asked.  
  
"Yes, just like you seem to be on the verge of creating a revolutionary computer microchip, I'm pretty sure I can find a way to have a true, instantaneous dataflow, which is why I call it Insta-Net for now. I still got to work on the algorithm, it still a bit off. What about you?"  
  
"Well, the microchip can store and process five times the information at four times the speed than any other, but like you, I'm not certain about the success of it yet." she stated.  
  
"I was thinking...maybe we could work on both our projects together. Get fresh perspectives, things like that?"  
  
She grinned at him. "Oh, I was hoping you'd say that."  
  
He raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh?"  
  
"Cause dad and me, we're moving to Portland, so..."  
  
Portland. Barely and hour and a half from here. She was coming to so near they'd be able to see each other as frequently as they wanted. At that moment he forgot his doubts, his self- depreciation, even his nagging headache. She was coming close to him, very close. Wordlessly, overcome by his feelings, and took her hands in his and held her. They smiled at each other.  
  
It must have lasted a while. The waitress had come to ask what they wanted and thought better of the notion when she saw the dreamy expressions of the two faces, deciding to come back later. To them, it lasted barely a moment, but it was a memorable one. Nathan was certain he would never forget it, would hold on to the warmth he had inside of him right now.  
  
It had taken long for him to do it. To feel like he was fully human again. But tonight, he felt good. He no longer felt like a cripple.  
  
Yes, this was a memorable evening indeed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Around the same time...  
  
Henry Morton, a Criminal Investigation lieutenant for Scotland Yard, took a look at the object of his newest investigation, his mind tightly focused, his face carefully neutral. Dressed in a overcoat to keep the foggy night away, he looked like an old, bent man. In fact, he was forty-three, and when he stood it was tall and straight. He didn't show the paunchiness cops his age sometimes did, thanks not to any exercises but the fact that he had a metabolism that just didn't keep fat long. As he stood up and let the paramedics pull the white blanket back up the victim's face, he shook his head slightly. In twenty-six years in the police, he'd seen just too many deaths, and was fast attaining the stage where one had difficulty feeling sorrow for the dead. He knew it and, although he'd never really admit it, it scared him. The dead deserved better than the neutral look of an overconfident man.  
  
"Hey, Henry." said a man walking to him, also an investigator. Donald Kent, forty, and Morton's partner for the last nine years. "Talked to the kids. So, who bought the bloody farm today?" he was trying to lighten the tone, it was clear, but his grim voice belied it all.  
  
"Hmmm, well, according to her papers, Francesca Erretio, nineteen. Lived in London for the last twelve years. Cause of death: massive internal bleeding."  
  
"Notified her parents yet?"  
  
"Sent some people." he sighed "They should be told in a few minutes at most." Now there was something he'd never grow out of: the parents grief, their clear horror and disbelief that the child they'd raised so long and lovingly could be gone just like that, no one could become blasé about. After all, the old saying was right: no parents should live to bury their own children, life is just not supposed to happen this way.  
  
"This psycho, what do you make of him?" asked Donald with a strange edge in his voice.  
  
"Except for the fact that he's crazed? I'd have to say there's rage within the guy. Rage and fanatism. You never saw the way he ravaged that girl. I checked the body, Donald, and I'm certain. There's a lot of anger. At what? Who knows? But this one is dangerous. Very dangerous. But enough of that, what did you learn?"  
  
"About the guy. Little." he seemed angry at himself,as if he took this all personally. But knowing Donald, Morton guessed he probably was. "Those kids at the disco barely saw him at all. They say he's tall, athletic, dark hair - brown or black. In short, thousands and thousands of youth could fit this category. But that's not the worse."  
  
Morton groaned slightly. "I hate that last sentence. What is it?"  
  
Donald grimaced, foretelling it would be anything but good tidbits. "The kids that saw the guy, saw him meet and walk out with TWO women."  
  
Morton cursed loudly. The implication of it was appalling.  
  
"Now, we got two options: either that other one's dead, around somewhere, or..." he hesitated. But Henry had gotten the gist of it. He nodded.  
  
"She might still be with him." he finished grimly "In a sense, it gives us hope that she's not dead... but in another..."  
  
He looked around the place, at the police cars, at the people curiously trying to see what was happening, and finally at the spot the victim had been found. He thought about the victim herself, of the horrible pain she must have suffered, and closed his eyes wearily.  
  
"Donald, I know I've never said this and I hope I'll never say it again. But I hope she is dead. The alternative would be..." he couldn't even find the right word for it, and gave up. But his partner understood. They both did.  
  
This was a sad and dark night indeed...  
  
____________________________________________________  
  
To all those who read Will and Fate, I apologize. This chapter didn't go down as well as I wanted it to. I was tired this week, with many other things on my mind, and I had to write a lull in my story, something I'm never very good at. I can understand if you like it less than my other chaps - it just didn't go the way I planned, lacks some flavor, you know. Oh, well, ce qui sera, sera. I do hope you enjoy it, of course! I promise I'll do better for Chapter 20 ^_^  
  
See ya soon!  
  
Jeremy 


	23. Chapter 20

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 20  
  
January 20, 1998  
  
No matter what the reason, the stratagem they were using made Jeremy walk on air. After all, he was having a most romantic stroll with the woman he loved. Of course, it was all for the mission, but the details didn't really matter to him.  
  
For the last four days they'd watched that house just outside Sydney, gathering information and making plans. It wasn't that well-defended - six men during the day, ten during the night. In fact, it would've gone as an overlooked little thing, if their informants in Sydney hadn't told that many communications came and went from that very house. They'd double-checked subtly, talked with Mark on secure lines, and agreed that this insignificant two-storied house must have a computer linking the different parts of Shadowlaw's underground communications in Sydney. Taking this place out would confuse and stall the whole thing in town for at least two weeks - the perfect message to send that Shadowlaw was still being watched.  
  
The idea had come almost naturally. They both were young people, so projecting the image of teen-like innocence might enable them to keep the two people who always seemed to not-too subtly guard the door - except when a police car passed, of course - from getting suspicious long enough to get close and take them out, thus enabling their little raid without advance warning. Taking out people wasn't his forte or his liking, but if he had to choose between less drugs on the streets or his conscience, then it was the drugs he chose.  
  
They'd dressed for the occasion. Jeremy wore black jeans, a light white shirt - January was actually a rather HOT month in Australia and a battered leather coat. Cammy herself had put on a blue tight suit that stopped at the ribs, showing a few dozen centimeters of rosy, athletic flesh, dark green pants that seemed to accentuate her form even though it wasn't tight and make-up - which she usually never wore - that gave her an even more youthful look than usual. He knew his blood pressure had gone higher by ten points when he'd first seen her so attired, and the guards would probably do the same.  
  
But the best part was that they were strolling like young lovers, his arm around her shoulders and her head on his. And the best was, they didn't feel like they were faking, after all!  
  
"Cammy, love," he said softly, taking in the the darkening skies and the almost-deserted street. "You really know how to turn a guy on, huh?"  
  
She grinned up at him. "So I take it you approve?"  
  
"Well, I don't know. If you did that every day, I'd be less charmed. But right now..." he didn't finish his sentence. "Okay, coming up on them." he said swiftly. He felt her nod. "Lets give'em hell."  
  
They walked up to the guards, giggling, making affectionate noises. The guards looked wary at first but, as surmised, they seemed so genuine in it - well, in fact they were - that they started to look at Cammy with eyes that held no a little bit of admiration and lust. For a few moments, Jeremy didn't exist for them.  
  
He took advantage of that, disengaging himself and closing in the bare meter that separated them in a fraction of second. He summoned his chi, thrusting forward with a precise punch. The man tried to recover, but too late. The fist impacted on his throat, crushing the trachea and bursting more than a few of the important blood vessels there. The man gave a squeak, his eyes rolled back, and he toppled backward in a heap. The other guard had recovered by then, and turned towards him, gun in hand. There was no way he could dodge from this distance.  
  
However, the moment the guard turned away, two feminine, deadly hands took hold of his head and twisted. Bone snapped, and the other guard joined his partner in eternal sleep.  
  
They looked at each other and gave a grim smile. Round one done, in their favor. Now time for the second round. They entered the house, and immediately heard voices. Rather bored voices, not expecting trouble. They probably were thinking that it was their men coming into the house again. A man appeared, a bored, irritated expression on his face.  
  
"What are ya doing here, mates? Your shift doesn't end before..." he trailed off when he saw who it was, his eyes widened and he gaped.  
  
"Hiya." said Cammy, a second before she sent a kick that hit the guy hard, nearly splitting his head open. The man went down, but not before letting out a surprised and fearful shout. Immediately there was a great commotion in what seemed to be the living room.   
  
"You go!" Jeremy shouted to Cammy. "I'll handle those here!"  
  
There was no hesitation from her, no gesture of argument or anything. She sped up the stairs, stealth forgotten by the needs of speed. As she did, Jeremy seized a round metallic ball with a small button in one hand, fishing sunglasses and putting them on with the other. He clicked on the button, passing quickly in front of the opening within the living room and launching the ball.  
  
The chemicals released from the tiny holes caused the room to be flooded with the light of one thousand light bulbs at once. Cried of agony went up as them men were blinded by it. He moved, entering the room, his eyes protected by the thick, specially treated sunglasses. He counted the men - four of them, with their weapons either lying about or clutched in hand. With the three guys already taken out, that meant three were upstairs. No problem at all for Cammy.  
  
He knew the effects wouldn't last long - a few seconds at most. He could have killed them or incapacitated them right then and there, but that wasn't his style. He carried a pistol, but had rarely used it, had no wish to. Not yet. Thus, he used the seconds to get and throw all the guns out of the room, forcefully wrenching them sometimes. The light faded as he threw the last one, and he took out the glasses, trusting off his coat and taking a fighting stance. The men blinked, dazed. Knowing this was as far as luck and common sense should take the situation, he rushed them before they fully recovered.  
  
He attacked the nearest grunt with a swing to the head, which the man was too dazed to dodged. He he was turned halfway around by it, and went definitively down when Jeremy added a strong chop on the back of the neck. The young fighter felt his blood boil a little from the exultation of beating up an opponent - he had long ago discovered the best fighters were those who, no matter what their personalities were, actually reveled in the fighting. That was their edge in life. And, he guessed, his too.  
  
Another grunt swung at him. He ducked it, brought his fist hard upon the solar plexus, cracking the rib cage. The man stepped back, coughing and gasping, and was brought down by a fierce back-kick.  
  
The other two men were recovered by then. But then, he was up to taking two men at once. He took his stance and waited for their attacks. It wasn't long before they launched their onslaught. He quickly gauged one as a man with nothing but slight basic, while the other had had some training in the field of boxing, he could feel the strength of the blows when they impacted on his forearms. However, even that man didn't have much skill, and to someone like Jeremy, it was child's play to dodge and prance about, returning with quick, powerful shots.  
  
Finally he fell the boxer with a powerful three consecutive jabs to the face, taking in a shot from the other man to the ribs. It hurt, but not much - he'd been hit far worse in his life. Soon the last man followed.  
  
"Had fun?"  
  
He turned swiftly to see Cammy, looking quite hale, at the entrance to the now-askew living room. She regarded the four men scattered on the floor, then look back at him, her eyes dancing with an almost giddy sense of satisfaction. He smiled at her.  
  
"Sure I did. Did you put the virus up."  
  
"You bet. Its putting down the underground lines at a fast-paced run. Mark's gonna love to know his latest project worked." she gestured toward the front door. "Come on! Fireworks in ten seconds!"  
  
He didn't fully get that last, but hurried after her out of the house. He opened his mouth to ask about the 'fireworks' when he heard a loud boom behind him. He turned in time to see flames and smoke come out of one of the upper-level windows. He stared at the hungry blaze for a moment, then wordlessly turned back to a triumphant Cammy.  
  
"An easy mission." she stated. He only nodded, looking back and forth between she and the blaze. "I think we should go and celebrate that a bit, huh?"  
  
"Yeah, right, cheers." he said mindlessly. "T-that was C-Four!"  
  
"Yes, of course it was."  
  
"But where did you...nevermind, I don't want to know. Lets go before the whole neighbourhood comes calling."  
  
They made off quickly, as the houses around blazed with light and people started to come outdoors, looking aghast or frightened. And all the while Cammy seemed satisfied with herself and with him. He still thought that last explosion was overkill - where did she HIDE THE C-FOUR ANYWAY - but he wasn't going to say it. No way was he darkening the mood. It had been a VERY easy little thing for them and also their first real mission in a while - ever since the HQ Battle. So yeah, why not celebrate?  
  
After all, nothing bad can come out of celebrating a little, right?  
  
Right?  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
A few hours later...  
  
People thought shadows were what they were, the absence of light, the places that the sun was never supposed or never could fill. Some people were afraid of the shadows, and some saw them as tools to be used - a very human particularity, that, the human need to use everything. But there were few who knew them, who trusted them, and even among those, there were very few who did so as completely as the man named Everick. Born with the peculiar - and powerful - power to manipulate the shadows, it had made Everick a feared man in the circle, far more than his very average psychic powers, even more than his agility and exceptional endurance. He knew the shadows, trusted them, and walked in them, and became known as the Shadowwalker.  
  
He was shadowwalking at this very moment, stepping around in the Shadow World, making his way through the forested domain that surrounded the secretive Shinobi Stronghold where many of the most fearsome oriental assassins had become such because of the great training they had here. It was rumored that the Grand Shinobi Master Geki lived there, and Everick had learned this to be true. But he wasn't interested in Geki, or the Shinobi in particular. There was only one person he wanted here. Just one person he had to kill.  
  
He scaled the elaborate wall, still cloaked in the silence and stealth of his shadows, actually passing under the nose of another Shinobi. Kale most probably would have had his fun killing the man, and a few more, before doing what he really was supposed to do. Everick wasn't even tempted to do such a thing. He had one person to kill, and that was what he intended to do. No more.  
  
He looked at the many oriental structures, and spotted the place were his target slept when she spent days training at the place, and walked in the middle of the structures. He passed a Buddha Statue and stopped. He walked towards it, letting his shadows fall out from him. A risk, but a minimal one, since it was night. He knelt before the statue.  
  
"Forgive me for the lives I will take. That is but the line that fate has directed to me." he said coldly, but respectfully. He had an high faith in some higher power, and wished for things to be clear, if only with Him. He was just about to arise when a kunai embedded itself in the ground just beside him.  
  
Immediately reflexes took over, and pitched to the side, rolled and came to his feet, his stance angry. This Shinobi DARED to attack a praying man?!? That was completely unacceptable to him. He thus gathered his powers to him, and with a strong mental command, sent the shadows closing in on the man, enveloping him before he could raise the alarm. He then waited for the man to die.  
  
It didn't take long, just as he had surmised - only powerful psychics and he were immune to the concentrated negative energy that was released in his Shade Scythe attack, as he liked to dub it. By the time a minute had passed, Everick felt no life, nothing but the shadows. He let them fall, too the body under one arm, and flung it between two buildings. It'd be found soon enough, he knew, but not before he was far gone.  
  
Still, he felt somewhat ashamed. He shouldn't have had to kill, wouldn't have had to if he'd stuck to the job. But the tradition he had to pray for forgiveness was an old one, and old habits always died hard. Shrugging off the problem as one would shrug off an itch on one's finger, he called his shadows to hide his presence all over again, before anyone could notice him again and continued on his way.  
  
He opened the door soundlessly and made his way through the corridors, using his limited psychic abilities to 'feel' where his target was. As he did so, he remembered exactly what Kale, his ever-smiling, ever-twisted friend, had told him.  
  
"I'm going to meet the Elders soon." he had said , his tone light and uncaring "But you, you'll do something for me, my dear friend!"  
  
"And what would that be?  
  
"Take out that girl, that Shinobi - Ibuki, I think her name was. She's been a pain to both me and my brother, and we'd both be happy if she vanished. Just make sure its not a pleasant death."  
  
"Not pleasant?" he had prodded.  
  
"Or you can chose to let her live, but in that case, I want you to break her utterly, in such a way that she'd never recover. Not just crippled, SHATTERED in both the physical and the mental sense."  
  
"I can choose any of the two."  
  
"Or come up with your own if you want!" he'd said happily, his smile very wide. Then they let the subject drop to a close.  
  
He'd chosen a quick death. Not only because it would be more efficient, but because the young girl was one those people who understood the shadows, even if only a little. He wished no harm upon those who thought in a such a way. Yes, a quick death would be the best way.  
  
He finally came to the sliding door that he wished to enter. She was definitely one the other side, alone. He nodded to himself absently. This was going the way he wanted it to. He slid the door open and stepped in.   
  
Inside was a rather Spartan room. A mat, of course, some cushions, a desk, papers and pens on top, some furniture and clothes. Very ordinary, no flavor of her personality. He was unsurprised by it however: this was where she trained, not the place she normally lived in. He wished she HAD been at her house - it would have made things easier for him.  
  
He approached the sleeping figure, feeling a twinge of conscience. So young, so beautiful, so full of life. This wasn't the way she should die. But his duty was clear. Death or atrocious crippling. Between the two, death was the most merciful. Unless he could come up with something else. In that case, what could it be?  
  
And then she spoke, calmly, surprising him. "You may show yourself now. I know there is someone here."  
  
He was astounded. As far as he knew, only high-level psychics could detect through his shadows and invisibility. How could she? How? But he refused to let his turmoil show, and he let his power drop out again, with serenity and dignity. Black eyes met black eyes silently, and Everick was enthused by the level of spirit he felt from her. She was of Geki's blood alright!  
  
"I must admit to be impressed." he said at length "Few there are in the world that may see me when I wish it not."  
  
She smirked slightly. "Than I'm lucky, ain't I?" her tone turned cold and serious then. "You're Everick. I've seen you before. You were there when they tortured Cammy."  
  
"White? Yes, indeed I was."  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
He sighed, bowing his head a little. "To do my duty, I suppose. Not a very likable one, I know, but given the fact you managed to alienate tow powerful underground lords, you probably will receive what I will give you, or at least am supposed to."  
  
She tensed, but no alarm showed on her determined face. She was wary, but if she was frightened she hid it well. He resolved to end this quickly and raised his head again, making a firm eye contact again.  
  
"You see." he said neutrally, his face rigid, a true mask. "I am here, quite simply, to kill you."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Around the same time...  
  
She'd never been too hot on celebrations, and she really couldn't tell why she'd decided to hold one - even if there were only two people. A sense of giddiness maybe - the mission had been an easy thing, far easier than what they usually did, and also the fact that it had been the first one they'd done ever since...well...that time, had filled her with some fresh energy, that needed a more casual kind of release. Hence the little celebration.  
  
And they'd both celebrated, although Jeremy, with his weaker digestive system, had taken care to be a little more moderate, but only in a very slight sense. And now, they were in a taxi, heading back to their hotel, tired but still ecstatic.  
  
"Man, did you see that fatso in the bar? He really thought I was a friend of his!" Jeremy chuckled.  
  
"Invited you home for a drink?"  
  
"Nah, a barbecue, if you can believe that."  
  
He chuckled again, and after a moment she joined him. She was a bit surprised at herself. Before Shadowlaw, she had rarely laughed at all. Too serious, too bossy. After Shadowlaw, well, she didn't want to laugh, and that, it seemed, was that. And yet that night she had actually laughed a few times - short laughs, of course, but they were there, she had felt them - and felt nearly as alive as the time she and Jeremy had professed their love for each other. She gave the man she was growing accustomed to loving a quick look, and found him leaning back, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. He'd enjoyed both the evening and the night.  
  
Oh, tomorrow would be less entertaining. They'd write reports, file them, and then take a flight back to London to go sit back a while behind a desk until the operations were back in full swing - which might take at least a few weeks. So why not take the time they had and have a little fun? Their job was done right now.  
  
"Feeling drowsy, Jer?" she asked suddenly.  
  
He kept his eyes closed but shook his head. "Nope. No way. I'm a night creature. I just can't get sleepy after dark. Always been a problem, ever since I was a kid."  
  
"So you don't have to sleep right now, huh?"  
  
Now he opened his eyes. Now he looked at her, his eyes showing curiosity and, as he said, not even a little hint of drowsiness. "That was a strange question, love. You want to do something else."  
  
She felt strange. Fearful, but not the kind of fear one usually had in dangerous situation. It was more like some kind of hesitant anticipation. She knew what had come up in her mind, knew it quite well. But there could be problems with that. But she suddenly wanted to try.  
  
"Maybe." she said hesitantly, "Lets just wait until we're back to the room, okay?"  
  
He blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, then finally gave a nod and turned a quite apprehensive look out the window. She knew he had understood the implications, and also knew his silence meant he was trying to deal with it.  
  
They finally came to the hotel, paid the taxi, and went up the elevator. It was an awkward silence, one that hadn't been present between them for a long while. She didn't feel that good about it - darn it, why were they both that nervous? She knew she wanted to make that step, she wanted to really show him how much she loved him. Surely he did as well!  
  
Once inside the room - simple room with two double beds, a fridge, table, a small bathroom and a television set - she tried to initiate something with a kiss. It was clumsy debut, she felt that people experienced in that particular activity would have scoffed. Fortunately, he responded readily enough, and they hugged each other. She then forced his mouth open with her tongue, and soon his own joined the game. She was starting to feel hot, and her hands went under the white shirts, brushing a bare, muscled frame that was the end result of a natural athletic tendency, compounded by a good regimen and honed by over twelve years of training, many hours per day, with focus and willpower. She felt herself go further and further into that blank, warm thing inside of her, and started to let herself go.  
  
Then one of his hands strayed under her pants...  
  
She felt it then - a massive fear that smothered the growing sexual desires she'd had. It came with unreasonable speed, bringing images and words with them.  
  
"You're mine, Cammy. No one can help you..."  
  
"No! Let go of me! LET GO!"  
  
"Shut up, bitch! There's nothing you can do, nothing that matters except what I wish for! Accept you fate with some amount of dignity."  
  
"You can't! I don't want it. I don't want it, no!"  
  
"FINE! Struggle if you wish it. It'll only make it more challenging, and far be it for me to shy from a CHALLENGE!"  
  
"NO, STOP! PLEASE! DON'T TOUCH ME! NO! NOOOOOOOO!!!!"  
  
"NO!" she shouted, pulling back fearfully, shoving the man in front of her away. No! He couldn't do that. It hurt, didn't he see? It hurt! Why didn't stop, why didn't...she blinked then, her reason coming back to her, and she found herself staring at Jeremy, who looked back at her with a mixture of confusion, irritation and guilt. She remembered what she was doing and, as that fear relented, what she'd wanted. She suddenly was overwhelmed by the need to cry, but her pride forbid that she cried in front of anyone, even him. So, without a word, she rushed inside the bathroom and slammed the door, locking it before he could enter as well. Then she collapsed on the toilet, weeping as silently as she could, unable to hold back a few loud sobs.  
  
Why? She wanted it, she wanted it! Why couldn't she see behind the fear? Why couldn't she give something of herself to the man she loved? But of course she knew why. Rose had told her this could happen. It was Bison, Bison's psychic meddling. Damn him! Damn him to Hell! Didn't he torture her, abuse her enough? Couldn't he leave her in PEACE!?!? The ache within her told her that it wouldn't be that easy.  
  
A soft knock at the door. "Cammy?"  
  
"Leave me alone!" she half-shouted, her voice breaking.  
  
"No." his voice answered calmly "That's the kind of thing I'll never do. Open the door."  
  
She shook her head. Then, realising there was no way he could see the gesture, she talked. "No. I-I just want a few minutes, okay? Its hard, I...Jer, I didn't want, didn't mean..."  
  
A sigh on the other side. "Okay. Just don't beat yourself over it, okay. We BOTH know its not your fault. I got a good idea what happened. And Cammy?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It doesn't matter, you know. The sex. Just don't push me away from you. I love you."  
  
She closed her eyes. She knew that. And she knew that she should answer this, but for a moment, the words caught. She nearly had to force them out.  
  
"I love you too."  
  
But, unless a miracle happened, she'd never be able to show the true depth of it. And right now, faced with it and its possible long-term repercussions, she suddenly felt small, fragile and desperate. She hated it, but so it was.  
  
"Jeremy...could you...could you sleep with me, tonight?" she asked "No kiss, no hug. Just...would you just...hold me tonight?"  
  
An hesitation on the other side. Then a shifting of weight. "If that's what you want, then sure."  
  
"Thank you." And she meant the words.  
  
With all of her heart.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Around the same time...  
  
"Why?"  
  
This was the first thing that had come upon Ibuki's mind, the first thing she could think of saying. A question. It surprised him, from the look of his face. He probably was waiting for something like fear or anger, and this completely stumped him. To be truthful, she was fairly surprised at the question herself. What was the purpose of it? She should be feeling something, and she did: fear, rage, anger, all these emotions were there, but removed somewhat, as if there was nothing to be really afraid of. Her instincts told her not to attack yet, and she had come, by experience, never to question her instincts. But it still sounded mighty weird to her, this morbid curiosity.  
  
Although his face didn't show it, she felt a whiff of confusion from the tall, black-garbed man in front of her, a second of uncertainty, quickly smothered.  
  
"Well, it seems I have explained it," he said curiously "You managed to irk two powerful underground crime lords, and so I was sent to dispatch you."  
  
"Then why the speech?" she asked further "Why didn't you just do it?"  
  
"I always want my victims to know the reasons of their death." he said smoothly, but there was a strange hesitation present in his deep voice now. "There is no other reason."  
  
That was a flat-out lie if she'd ever heard one. There definitely WAS another reason, and she found it proven by the very fact that they were having a relatively normal - even though the SITUATION was weird - conversation. If he TRULY was supposed to kill her, why wasn't he going about this business instead of wasting time? Any second, someone could hear him, sense his presence, and give the alarm. No, there was another reason.  
  
However, it changed nothing to the situation. From what she'd heard from Everick - frightened whispers and mutterings for the most part - he was at one with the shadows, actually controlling them. This, she could easily believe, for he had seemed to appear out of nowhere in her very room. Most of his power was derived from this incredible ability. Moreover, he was known to possess at least some chi powers, and to be a well-trained man. All in all, an extremely dangerous opponent, that she wasn't sure she could handle, here in his element, even if she were fully prepared - which she wasn't.  
  
Some would have called this a pretty desperate situation. Not Ibuki. She refused to visualize situations as desperate, had no use for the word. Even this situation didn't deter her. Her kunai were near at hand, and she her mind was already starting to channel her energies and ready her skills. He was a tough opponent - attacking him head on would be a folly. But if he only looked sideways, even for an instant.  
  
His eyes narrowed. "Don't bother. Don't fight me. You will not win." he said, a little less neutral, a little more hotly.  
  
"If you are so certain of that, why ain't I dead? Why the stalling, huh?"  
  
He gritted his teeth. "That's not..."  
  
What he was about to reveal was lost as her door opened hesitantly, revealing Hiro, a young Shinobi trainee. He seemed caught between sleep and awareness, and looked vaguely irritated. "Ibuki-sempai, I'm sorry about this intrusion, but could you please remember that this is NIGHT and that..." he stopped as he came to realization the object of his complaint wasn't alone. He blinked.  
  
That was all he had the time to do. As he blinked, Everick moved, shadows coalescing and grasping the half-awake youth by the neck, holding him up, strangling him. He made a single squeaking sound, his eyes snapping open, his hands going to the strange mass that was choking him.  
  
"No!" she cried, immediately lunging into action, grabbing her kunai and swiftly flicking three in her enemy's direction. He put his arm in front of his face, and the knives impacted...and fairly rebounded. For a second confused, she realized what that meant. The black suit was inlaid in kevlar, or at least the sleeves were.  
  
No kunai? Fine. Skills then. She jumped up and away , coming forward and delivering a precise mid-air kick. The man twisted, but not enough, and she impacted his shoulder instead of his neck. He gave a grunt, his lips tight, but managed to retain both his stance and the hold he had on the helpless trainee. His hand lashed out, knocking her a safe distance as she came down. She flipped, came to her feet smoothly, only to have an uncounscious Hiro barreling toward her, sent by the forces that Everick controlled.  
  
She side-stepped and the poor boy crashed on her pallet. She cast him a quick, worried look before glaring back at her enemy. "If you've killed him..."  
  
The man was unflappable. "You would attack me, and if you died someone would take your place, yaddy yaddy yadda, until your casualties would mount too high and you'd do the intelligent action and stop your attacks. But there is no need for threats in this case. He will live. I do not kill such young weak boys. Unlike the other fool who saw me when I came here."  
  
She wanted to snarl at the impassive tone the man had, but refrained. Instead she attacked again, this time with fury. Not a fury that dulled the senses. Her fury was a cold one, which honed them, gave them a better access to her reserves, and greater odds of success against the man.  
  
She came at him like a snake, pulling off sharp, precise chops, side-blows, and kicks. He answered with a very opaque defense. She gave him a kick to the solar plexus, and he staggered back two full steps. But before she could capitalize on the successful attack, he was back at her, with a knee-elbow combo that she barely dodged. She wondered, with all the noise they must be making, how it was possible that no one else had come besides Hiro.  
  
As if reading her very thoughts, he spoke to her about it. "Yes, that would seem strange. But the answer is actually quite simple. I've put a psychic pall of silence around the room. No one will bother us, not before we are finished here."  
  
He then slashed his left forearm sideways, three times, towards her. Her senses kicked into overdrive and she flung herself backward, just barely avoiding the drawer the had been aimed at her head. She didn't have time to do much about the other two, however, and she took them both, one impacting her ribs soundly, the other her left leg. The impacts would have been sufficient to send a normal girl down for the count, but Ibuki was anything but normal, her chi suffusing her body, giving her greater strength and endurance. Still she felt it, and her balance was lost for an instant.  
  
An instant. An eternity.  
  
Before she could do anything, she felt his knee, reinforced by his great strength and powers, hit her dep in the stomach. She gasped, feeling bile rise up. She hunched a little, dazed, and was welcomed there by a powerful uppercut that sent her crashing into the wall. She tasted warm blood. Still, although the blows hurt she came down and up at once, lunging forward again. He hadn't expected this, not at all, hadn't thought she'd recover that fast - if she recovered at all. He stepped aside, but she caught him with a firm side chop, following up with a kick immediately, he pitched to the side, and she saw blood stream from the corner of his mouth.  
  
And then he was back, tearing at her, not pulling the punches at the slightest. He hit her hard, battering her defenses, finally catching her with a punch that cracked the ribs that had been bruised by the flung drawer. She groaned, let her defense fall reflexively - and got a solid drop-kick to her shoulders, she leaned forward. Another one, stronger. And another. And another. Quickly. Relentlessly. She went down. Before she could get back up, she felt his knee trust deep and painfully into her back, and his hand caught her by the hair and smashed her head into the floor. Still she struggled, not willing to simply die like this. The hand smashed her face into the ground again and again, unyielding. Finally, she felt too dizzy to fight much, and her struggles relaxed. Then he sighed.  
  
"Enough, Shinobi. You fought excellently, but the fight was mine from the beginning. Your passion is your strength, but in this case it wasn't sufficient." another sigh, longer. "No, I can't let this be done. Not this way. Fighters like you deserve far more than to die so helplessly."  
  
And then his hand was gone, as well as the knee pinning her. She flung herself back up, ignoring the pain. She stared. He was looking at her stonily, not even winded, wiping the blood on his face slowly.  
  
"Why?" she asked.  
  
"That question again. I have no ready answer, except that your will to live impressed me. I will not be the one to break such a will - if anything save death may break it. However, I warn you not to meddle in either the affairs of Shadowlaw and The Circle ever again...or you and I will surely meet once more.  
  
And with that, he vanished, growing ghostly,then invisible. She couldn't do anything but stare, for she was in no state to try and follow. And then, before his presence wafted away like so much smoke, he spoke one last time, sternly, but somehow sadly.  
  
"And if we ever meet again, I will be forced to kill you."  
  
And with that, he was gone, and Ibuki faced only empty air.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Four days later...  
  
Henry Morton drove his car up the alley leading to the SCD Headquarters, scanning around. Like most of London, he had heard the battle here raging in the distance, all these months ago. And like all of England, indeed most of the world, had been shocked by it. Never since the Second World War had England ever been attacked this way. After half a century of peace, the newer generations - including his - had thought impossible that England would ever see war on its homegrounds. It had been a wake-up call for the nation and the entire Western World.  
  
And it showed on the SCD building. It had not only been rebuilt, but visibly reinforced by ceramic alloys, steel, and electronic systems. Radars could be seen openly, and twice the usual number of crafts were stationed permanently, making tight, vigilant rounds. It was also rumored that new, cutting-edge devices had been planted all around the perimeter of the base, giving more than ample warning of an attack.  
  
It was clear that no one would surprise SCD HQ anymore.  
  
However, he wasn't here for such world-shaking business, but for a more personal, more human reason. He stopped his car just next to the stairs leading to the main doors. He got out of the car, walking up the stairs with a determined gait. The soldier guarding the door soon got out of the cubicle and hailed him. He showed his badge to cut things short.  
  
"Inspector Henry Morton, Criminal Investigations, Scotland Yard." he said sternly, in his best I'm-on-business-so-don't-waste-my-time voice. "I wish to speak with a certain Jeremy Storm on a subject of great importance to both of us."  
  
The soldier looked at the badge, then nodded. "I'll see if he's there." then walked back to his cubicle, taking up the phone. Morton settled to waiting patiently. He did not have to wait long, for soon the man appeared again, somewhat less wary. "You may go in. There's an anteroom on your right. If you would please wait there, officer Storm will go to meet with you."  
  
"Very well." nodded Morton and he entered the building. He soon found the anteroom - a rather clean and white thing with a few chairs and magazines - and chose a seat. Then he looked at his watch, leaned back slightly, and waited some more. He had done that a lot these days. But patience had always given him good results. And he needed those desperately. A life may be depending on it.  
  
"You wished to see me, sir?"  
  
He would have started at the voice, except he wasn't this kind of man. He looked around and saw a man in a green, black and red outfit standing near him. He was young man, and looked much like the photos the inspector had seen - relatively tall, athletic, short brown hair, intelligent grey eyes. And the stony edge of a professional fighter and soldier. Not a young man one should take lightly. Morton stood up and shook hands with him.  
  
"Yes. Henry Morton."  
  
"Jeremy Storm. I'd normally say its a pleasure, but given the nature of your position, I doubt I'll find what you have to say much pleasurable."  
  
Cunning kid, thought the policeman, gets right to the heart of the matter without appearing brusque about it. He gave a slight grin that disappeared quickly. "No indeed. Let's sit down. It won't take long. Just have a question or two to ask, a few facts to clear."  
  
Jeremy nodded and sat. Morton did the same and immediately attacked with his first volley.  
  
"You may or may not know it, but there was a murder perpetrated January eighteen, at around two hours in the morning. Did you know of it?"  
  
A slow shake of the head. "No, I really didn't. First I've heard of it, sir."  
  
"Simply to make things clear, where were you when this crime occurred?"  
  
Storm paused, considering, probably searching his memory. "At that time...onboard a plane enroute to Sydney, Australia. It can be verified, of course. And my partner could testify."  
  
Morton nodded. All this he knew already, had only asked to test the waters. This Storm was an honorable man, his intuition told him. Not a liar, not one who went against the law, not gladly at least. Now was the harder part. The next questions and answers were essential for if their suspicions proved true, he might well need this young man.  
  
"The victim was a woman. Young, lively, with no known enemies and no criminal file. A university person, with a nice family, a car, a boyfriend. A person with no problem." he paused, keeping his eyes fixed on Storm, who was looking back, curious. "She was beaten to death and left to die in an alley."  
  
Storm's face grew troubled, as if part of his mind understood the implications of what had been said. Morton decided to clear the table.  
  
"Officer Storm, you have a cousin named Thomas, do you not?"  
  
THAT touched a nerve. An almighty, sensitive one. The young man's face twitched, his eyes blazed for a moment, and his hands griped the armrests tightly. Morton did not miss the flash of naked hatred that passed in those eyes. Having read what had happened between the two, he wasn't surprised to find it, but the depth of it shook him up a little. This was a dangerous man indeed. Not a murderer, no, but dangerous.  
  
"Yes, I do." stiffly said, with tight control. This wasn't a pleasant conversation as far as Storm was concerned. "But it can't be him. He's interned in an asylum in Boston.   
  
"Then you were not told that your cousin escaped the facility nearly four months ago?"  
  
Storm leaned forward frantically, his face paling. His eyes were wide, disbelieving. A shiver tore through his obviously muscular frame. "What? That's not possible! I-I had absolutely no idea."  
  
"Interesting. Why would such crucial information be retained from you?"  
  
Jeremy leaned back, his pale complexion reddening, his expression clouding. A thought had struck him, it seemed. Not a pleasant one, clearly. "No." he said in a low voice "I don't know why, I'm not certain." his eyes blazed anew "But I will find out."  
  
"Sir, then I hate to be telling you this: there was another woman there, and her body hasn't been found. Which leads up to a logical conclusion."  
  
Another paling. Poor young man. This was like going through Hell over and over again. "Logical, it would be...oh God." He closed his eyes.  
  
"Would you accept helping me by giving me any information you might find?" a slow nod. "Thank you, officer. Then, the news I had to deliver are so." he stood up. With difficulty, Storm did as well. They shook hands. Morton found that Storm's grip lacked strength this time. "I do hope we will be able to find him before he does anyone else anymore harm."  
  
"I hope so, sir. Sincerely, I do. But if it is Tom, then I have serious doubts that he'll stop at one victim." the tone was bitter, showing a new hollowness. The discussion ended at that, and Morton left a few minutes later. His last view of Storm was the man standing in the middle of the anteroom, staring vaguely around.  
  
But before he left, he distinctively if faintly heard a frantic, angry cry, and also heard the sound of a wooden chair impacting a wall. Yes, the news had been shocking. This was the voice of someone who felt angry and betrayed.  
  
Woe to the one this betrayal was due from.  
  
___________________________________________  
  
Well, well, a new chap! I know it was quick, but now and for the next few days I'm gonna have a lot of time on my hands. So expect more chaps! ^_^  
  
Next chap: Jer goes to the US to understand why he wasn't told about Thomas's escape. Also, more on Thomas and his twisted life and morals.   
  
See you in Chapter 21!  
  
Jeremy 


	24. Chapter 21

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 21  
  
February 3, 1998  
  
Nathan looked at his friend Jeremy, who paced in front of him. Back and forth, back and forth, his face tense, his whole body as rigid as a bowstring ready to snap - or as a predator ready to lunge and take his prey. Not really the nicest thing he'd ever thought. In fact, it was damn chilling, but he found he couldn't help himself - the resemblances were too real. Problem was, he somewhat felt that HE, Nathan McIntyre, was that prey which was about to be torn apart.  
  
He coughed to clear his throat. "If you could at least tell me the reason of your visit or, more to the point, the information you want, maybe I'll be able to help you instead of watching you use up the floor of my house."  
  
The taller man stopped his pacing, gave a quick look and muttered something intelligible, as if uncertain he should speak. The crippled man checked his irritation with some difficulty - this may take a while.  
  
"So, is he always like this?"  
  
Nathan looked to his left where Area stood. It had been her first visit to his house, and he'd wanted it to be memorable. Well it WAS turning out to be memorable, even if it was in a way that did not relish any of the people in the McIntyre living room.   
  
It had started twenty minutes ago. A rather imperious knock at the door, and Nate had been surprised and glad to discover it was his old friend Jer. The joy had faded to concern, however, as he had looked at the man's face and seen, not the warm, friendly expression he had expected, but rather a tired, shocked and angry mien. And this impression had been compounded by his friend's later actions. Whereas he normally would've been interested to meet Area at last - after all the rants Nathan had mailed him, who wouldn't? - but had been barely polite to her, short and stiff with him. It was abnormal, it was new and it was starting to get on his nerve in a very real way.  
  
He shook his head, his eyes fixed on Jeremy. "No. He's usually polite and friendly. Something's bothering him and its time he told me what it was. Hey, Jer!" the man looked at him "Sit somewhere and talk to me, or else get out and take a walk, cuz I'm darn tired of this grumbling around. Spill the beans, man."  
  
His taller, athletic friend looked at him for a moment, then sagged his shoulders. "Sorry. I'm just having problems dealing with this."  
  
"That we can see as clear as daylight." Nathan noted. "Now if you would be so kind as to enlighten us as to what the 'this' you have to deal with is, maybe we could come to understand the situation ourselves."  
  
A sigh. The man leaned against the wall nearest the two and seemed to be considering his words. Nathan relaxed a little. Perhaps they were getting somewhere after all!  
  
"Its about the fact that Thomas" escaped from the asylum." he stated, slowly.  
  
The smaller man raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" he wondered "You pissed off because of this? Well...I don't mean to be insulting man, but...aren't you about four months late? He escaped quite a while ago!"  
  
A stiffening. "So, you knew?"  
  
"Of course I did. Like your Uncle, Aunt, Claudia and Alex, too. We learned of it about a week after the man scooted off." and a depressing week it had been. Nathan had been frightened the man would come to finish him off, and Alex had stuck to Claudia like glue, vowing to tear the crazed man limb from limb if he ever showed his nose near the blonde girl. But no, nothing had happened, and after a while they had all relaxed. Except Jer, apparently.  
  
"Thomas..." mused Area "Isn't that the man who killed seven people in Greenway, years ago?"  
  
Nathan nodded, glad he could talk with someone who did look like she wanted to actually converse. "Yup. A real whacko. I can tell." he looked at his leg in bitterness, and touched his face. "He's the one who nearly killed me." Never would he forget that.  
  
Area opened her eyes wide - it was the first he'd told her about it - and seemed on the verge of saying something, but Jeremy interrupted the scene.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
There was something in the voice - an edge, something - that hinted at an highly volatile, barely contained emotion. The cripple man was more than bright enough to see there was a very tangible form of danger there. Like a game in which you won a prize by choosing the right answer. However, in this case the prize, it seemed, would come if the answer was wrong. And it wouldn't be a pleasant prize.  
  
He chose his words carefully, stating what he felt was the emerging truth. "You weren't told?"  
  
"No, I wasn't!" the man retorted, his tone biting, anger boiling just beneath the surface. "Now tell me why didn't you tell me? Or Claudia, or Alex? I thought we four were friends, man. Why hide this from me?!?"  
  
"Now, hold on..."  
  
"Fuck hold on!" Jeremy exploded. "Tom's resurfaced in England, and I had to be told by a damn COP! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!"  
  
Area seemed to slightly cringe in front of this mounting anger, but only slightly. She was a Street Fighter, after all, she'd seen worse situations. But Nate was stunned, and afraid. Stunned by the news that Tom was back in action, afraid of his friend, whom he'd seen this angry only once, over three years ago. He had to tell the truth. The only one he knew.  
  
"We would've told you, Jer." he said hurriedly, "Claudia was all for it, as was Alex and as I was. However..." he stopped, not really wishing to continue. As he had spoken, things had become very clear, and he could have eaten his tongue for it. Better to have the guy angry at him. He would lose Jeremy's friendship, but not be hurt - the pain wouldn't be vivid enough, and Jeremy didn't hit people weaker than he. But now...  
  
"What? However what??" Jeremy pressed, his eyes grey knives, his fists clenched, his hold poise antagonistic.  
  
"However...your uncle and your aunt told us not to." he finished, damning himself for it all.  
  
Jeremy banged his back against the wall, his eyes wide. His expression had gone so disbelieving, so struck-down, that Area seemed to make a move towards him, perhaps a friendly gesture. Nathan stopped her. Now was not the time. Not when he was like this. Comfort would do more harm than good, he knew.  
  
"They did this...they asked you not to..." the grey-eyed man whispered.  
  
Nathan nodded, miserable now, knowing he was destroying something precious and hating himself for it. "Yeah, they did. Surprised us quite a bit when they did that, too. But we trusted them to tell you. How could we not? Claudia and I've known them since we were little kids!" he stopped, coughed.  
  
Jeremy looked devastated. Nathan understood why. "They didn't tell you..." he sighed.  
  
The other man leaned against the wall, his eyes wide, staring. Something was breaking up inside of him - Nathan could almost hear the tearing sound, could see it clearly, it was so palpable. Then it happened. Little by little, the eyes started to flash, the expression to darken. Wrath was taking the place of the void that the tear was leaving. Nathan had predicted this would happen, but was still distraught to see himself proven right - he would have prefered anything but.  
  
"No, my friend." said Jeremy, voice tight "They didn't tell me. Thank you for being honest. I'll see you around." With that he left the living room, as quick as lightning. Appalled, knowing what was about to happen, Nathan leaped to his feet, ignoring the pain.  
  
"Jer! Don't do anything you'll regret!!!" he shouted, but the only answer he had was the slamming of the door. "Blast it. Phone, phone!" he hobbled quickly to the nearest phone, fumbling with the receiver.  
  
Area looked dazed about the whole exchange - he didn't blame her, he felt dazed himself. Except that he knew the situation enough to be too worried to feel the daze.  
  
"Who are you calling?" Area asked, shaking her head.  
  
"Claudia." he explained urgently "I'm gonna tell her to follow Jeremy up to old Mattew's house. Too bad Alex's not there, we'd need him."  
  
Now Area was nearly as worried as he. "What's going to happen?" she asked.  
  
He was dialing quickly, the number coming in from memory. "What's going to happen? Something that should never happen. I just hope our fears don't come through." and then his face went lax and sad.  
  
"But I know that look on Jer's face. I know what he's thinking. And, my love, I must tell you, I've got little hope this won't end the way I fear it will."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Around the same time...  
  
Being involved in a personal crusade was the most important thing in his life, but years of confinement in an asylum amongst crazy but sometimes very intuitive people had convinced the man that the principles of life meant nothing without some kind of way to get the kick out some of his stress. That was something both the doctors and the inmates roughly agreed with. So Thomas decided to take a job that fitted both his mood and purpose. It had taken him a while, but he had found his calling.   
  
He had learned and installed a secret little site on the net, and from there took the complaints of people with problems, people who had been betrayed by either a friend, a lover, a wife, anything - and removed the problem entirely from their lives. His fees were very high, because of the problems this or that might entail, but he had always found people who wished the problem gone enough to pay. And since the people he killed had betrayed, he didn't really mind the killings.  
  
He was doing some push-ups as the familiar beep of an online communication alerted him. Through his internment and even more so since his escape, he had given himself a strict physical regimen of exercises and practice, in the hopes of honing his skills. Squats, sit-ups, flexing sessions, and then tech practice, boxing sessions and the practice of specially designed katas - these had all served to augment his skills and strength to a whole new level. He had done it in the hopes of killing his - cousin, right? - when they met again, but he'd seen the man the last time around. As high as Thomas had climbed, Jeremy had climbed much higher, much faster. Thomas felt himself fast reaching the peak of his possibilities, he had felt the other man was nowhere near his limits. A confrontation would end in disaster fort if it was a purely hand-to- hand fight. However, there were ways of getting things done without fists flying.   
  
The beeping was growing bothersome. Grunting, he stood up and walked to his computer console.  
  
"Okay, okay." he grumbled "I'll take your problem out soon enough. Just let me look at that, would ya?" talking to himself so openly had always seemed like a problem to him. Although many people muttered when alone, he was one to have one side conversations without one little bit of problem with it. Not that it mattered. There was no one here who would care.  
  
He sat down and skimmed through the hesitant introduction, saw the strange phrasing and quickly understood that this was a woman trying to sound like a man to further hide her tracks. He couldn't help but snort in contempt: if one wanted someone dead enough to go through the trouble of finding his site, why wouldn't that someone just show the feelings a little more clearly? Contemptible, weak people who didn't have stomach, of course, always seemed to wish to hide their feelings.  
  
The woman was irked with her husband, who had, it seemed, cheated on her repeatedly with another woman, a younger, stupid dolt. It was an old story. He'd already had three such cases, all near London. Humanity was such a spiteful race. She wished to have him 'removed' so that she could get on with her life. He smirked. He could place the type now. A spoiled, rich girl had married an even richer boy who happened to be a womanizer. She had known quite well that he was cheating her, probably within the first year of their marriage. But she'd waited, so that she could have a large part of his heritage to herself. Yes, yes, it was certainly something like that. Maybe not exactly like this, but very similar.  
  
Still, it was HE who had been weak, HE who had betrayed. And she could meet his prices. The rest mattered little. He answered that he accepted, and shut his computer for this time. He felt refreshed at this - everytime he had the goal to eliminate a Betrayer, he felt better. It covered his unrest, an unrest that had been growing, past even his cold rage.  
  
The lines of the Pure and the Betrayers were starting to blur. It seemed that in anyone he researched, there was a taint in the spirit, in the action. He was worried about the implications of this. He wished not to kill everyone, not unless there was a solution to this problem. The world needed good humans around. However, it was hard, seeing who he could consider good and who evil. Like Jeremy, years back. He had thought him Pure, while instead he was the worst of Betrayers, attacking family simply because he had dispensed some justice.  
  
Still, even if he did not know how to draw the lines between the two, wasn't sure anymore, it didn't mean someone else couldn't. Guided by that thought, he stood up and walked trough his basement apartment, headed to a room that was closed, the door locked. He fished a key in his pocket and unlocked it, entering with a gentle gait.  
  
The room was nicely furnished, with a nice, large bed, a comfy couch, a television, elegant furniture, a radio and a small library. Many things to pass the time. And sitting on the bed, pressed against the far wall, was a woman, brown hair swept back, her eyes looking at him with fear and hatred.  
  
"Hello, dear." he said pleasantly "How are you doing today? Fine, I hope."  
  
No answer, just the tense silence, the fixed stare. He walked over and sat at the foot of the bed. She huddled farther from him, leaning against the wall. He sighed. Couldn't she see he was just trying to be nice? What was her problem? She'd been like this, this mixture of despair and defiance, ever since her first day here. Nothing he said, no gift he tried to give her, changed anything about it. And as the days wore on, he was slowly losing the interest in seeing her like this. Today was the worst. He was in a good mood and she was ruining it, how dare she... alright, he had to calm down. Try to be civil. After all, this girl serves a purpose.  
  
"I've gotten a job today, so I'll be leaving you a few hours." he said "It wouldn't take long, just a small thing and I'll be back."  
  
No answer. He tried some more.  
  
"I'll make you something special tonight. Would you like that?" he asked, forcing an affable smile."  
  
Still no answer. And he was started to get thoroughly annoyed with all of this silent treatment. He'd treated her well, had no intention of hurting her, so what was the darn DEAL?!? He tried to calm himself, but the calm didn't come like it always used to. He found himself unnerved, on edge, and wanting nothing more than to break something up. Still he didn't give in, still he tried to be patient.  
  
"Don't you have anything to say?!?" he asked, the edge piercing in his voice. She continued to look at him her eyes now a bit glazed, uncaring. And that was IT. He leaned, grabbed a fistful of hair, and jerked her face towards him. She cried out once, then no more. "Answer me! Talk!"  
  
And she did. In a calm, dead voice that held more loathing than fear, she spoke to him. Only three words, clearly spaced, ringing in the room.  
  
"I hate you."  
  
Thomas roared in anger, and pushed her back toward the far end of the bed. The desire to hit her was suddenly so strong, so overpowering, that it took all of his will not to. She hadn't betrayed. She was Pure, he was sure of that. He knew HE wasn't, knew that when his Crusade was over, it would be the day he'd have taken his own life, and so he admired her for it, for keeping herself Pure. and hitting her might mar that purity. Thus he stood up, in a foul mood. Fuck the bitch! Damn her way she had, like she was looking down at him. She was but a weakling to him - if he'd wanted to take her, like he wanted to do sometimes, she would be unable to resist. But no, since she was Pure, he wanted her wholehearted agreement. An impossible task, his mind told him, but he would not relent.  
  
He made for the door, flinging it open with a angry jerk, then shot the sitting, immobile woman a look of exasperation.  
  
"You are stupid. Accept Fate as it is, and things will undoubtedly turn for the best. You WILL end up believing in me, and want me." he said as he closed the door behind him.  
  
But before the door was completely close, she spoke another word, one she hadn't pronounced yet. Still in the same dead tone, but clearer, to make sure he heard.  
  
"Never."  
  
He closed the door with a bang, locking it furiously, taking his coat and making plans. Soon he'd need to vent the frustration.  
  
It was a good thing that he had someone to kill today.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Thirty minutes later...  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"What do you think? You scared the hell out of Nate a few minutes ago and he called me. And I got to admit, you're starting to scare me too!"  
  
There was no other answer than a glare, which Claudia returned as best she could. It wasn't easy: she just didn't have the anger that her friend possessed right now, but she had a lot of pride. He broke the contest with an irritated jerk and continued to press on, through Hillchest Avenue, going up to Bowstring Street, where Mattew's house was located. He wasn't so much walking as half-stalking and half-running, and each moment he seemed more determined, more angry. She knew that Nathan had called her because she understood how to calm Jeremy's fury better, but she doubted that she could this time. There was too much in there, too much fire.  
  
There was couple ahead, leisurely walking. Young, they looked at each other in a way that showed they were very much in love. Claudia almost smiled as she saw them. However, to Jeremy the only thing he saw was two people in his way, two people going much too slowly for his taste. A rational Jeremy would simply had sped around the couple, not wishing to intrude. However, Claudia knew people worked up to this kind of anger weren't really rational. He shouldered past them, breaking them up, ignoring their startled yelps and the insults shot in his direction. She hurried behind, more worried than ever. For Jeremy hated bullies and for him to act like one, it meant he was beyond simply angry.  
  
They came to the house quickly at that pace, and Claudia, who was hoping seeing the old house where he'd grown up and known so much love would mellow the man out, saw these hopes die as the man's eyes narrowed into slits. This was the look of a hunter finder a very distasteful, elusive prey. She felt goosebumps and not because of the cold of February.  
  
They found Mary-Ann making a snowman side the alleyway, while a man was up further, near the door, looking at the house while holding a shovel. It was definitely Mattew. Jeremy zeroed in on him and quickened his pace. However, the little girl saw him pass and recognized him.  
  
"Big brother!" she cried out joy fully, running to him to give him a hug. Knowing she would probably receive nothing but a cold brush-off, Claudia caught her and held her, back, talking to her pleasantly. Jeremy never seemed to even notice even though she knew that, with his sharps senses, he certainly had.  
  
Mattew had heard the voice and turned around. His face registered gladness when he recognized his nephew coming towards him. He let go of his shovel and came forward, his hand outstretched, his face pleasantly relaxed, barely showing hints of redness even in the cold.  
  
"Jeremy!" he said jovially "Well, you're a sight for sore eyes, boy! How are you? Is that Cammy girl with you or are you just..."  
  
He didn't finish his sentence, for at that moment the younger Storm brought his gloved hand around, tightened it into a fist, and swung with both speed and ferocity. The blow was well-aimed and powerful, and Mattew had certainly not anticipated an attack. It impacted on his face, brought him toppling backward into the snow. In Claudia's arms, little Mary-Ann screamed in fright, and she tightened her hold on her. The blonde shook her head. 'The child shouldn't have had to see that, Jer.' she thought angrily.  
  
Mattew stayed in the snow a second, dazed. Then old warrior's reflexes kicked in, and he rolled to his feet taking on a loose fighting stance. "Why did you do that?"  
  
"You knew." said Jeremy coldly, with cold anger. "You knew Tom was out. You knew what he might do. And you didn't tell me. Zip. Nada! Not a thing!!" his anger exploded "YOU KEPT THE TRUTH FROM ME!!! WHY?!?"  
  
Expressions passed through Mattew's face. Anger became confusion then realization then consternation to finally settle on guilt. Claudia gaped. They hadn't told him? They hadn't even warned him. She started to get a little pissed herself. After all the pain Tom had caused Jeremy, it was the least they could have done! Damn it! She had known something was fishy when they'd been told not to tell their friend, but she'd trusted them. It hurt, to see it betrayed like this. How much worse must it be for Jeremy, who saw them as the only parents he ever had?  
  
Jeremy saw the guilt, grabbed his uncle by the front of his coat and hauled face-to-face with him. "Why, uncle? Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
His face a little miserable, Mattew opened his mouth, but a woman's screech cut through the air.  
  
"Let go of him! Let him go now!"  
  
Claudia and Jeremy both looked at the door of the house, and saw an angry and terrified Samantha. her eyes glinted with anger, and her face was gaunt. She seemed older than a woman in her early forties.  
  
"Why?" she screeched "I'll tell you why! Because the first thing you would have done is chase him down! Can't you just leave him alone?!?"  
  
"Alone!!! Aunt, the guy is crazed! He'll hurt people!!! A lot of them! Of COURSE I'd hunt him down!" Jeremy bellowed.  
  
"That's the point! Leave him to make is life again, it would be too hard for you, wouldn't it? Oh, no, you have to go out and meddle and hurt, just because he made mistakes in his youth!"  
  
Claudia was disbelieving. MISTAKES? This wasn't like the guy had taken candy bars as a kid. People had DIED. Horrible deaths, deaths undeserved. Had these people gone over the edge to still believe someone like that could STILL have some tangible otherness than his madness.  
  
Jeremy looked pale now. "Meddle? Me? He killed people...so many people. Even killed the one I loved. And you...YOU CALL THAT MEDDLING! You're blind, aunt! The man you knew as Thomas is dead, he died long ago! And now he's claimed another life, a life I MAY have saved, if I'd known about him four months ago."  
  
"Get out of here! You're just like your damn mother, always putting selfishness above all else. I'm just glad your father's dead, that he doesn't have to see this!"  
  
"SAM!!!" Mattew called, distraught. But it was too late. The javelin had been launched, the shot given. The results were devastating.  
  
Jeremy's face lost all, color, and for a moment, he seemed to age so much that Claudia perceived what he might look like at forty. He let go of his uncle, his shoulders sagged a little. He gave the angry Samantha a look of such sadness, such pain, that Mattew reached out a comforting hand. Jeremy only batted it aside, and then let out a laugh. A long, loud, bitter laugh that edged upon hysteria. Mary-Ann huddled at the tone of the voice, putting her little gloved hands on her ears and sobbing. Claudia wanted to do the same, but felt too appalled to.  
  
Finally the laugh ended in a choked sob that went through the area. "I loved you...I trusted you..." he whispered brokenly. His eyes then seem to focus for a moment, and he spoke to them through his tears. "But no more. From now on you people are related by name to me, no more than that. Only Grandpa and Mary-Ann will be welcomed where I stay. As for you, I never wish to see you again." a pause "And now I can assure you I will KILL Tom the next time I see him. Goodbye."  
  
"I hope I never see you again!" said Samantha. Mattew only looked on, torn.  
  
"Yes madam. That's exactly my intent." And with that he walked away from them, only pausing briefly in front of the weeping Mary-Ann. He put an hand on her little head. "Don't become l-like them." he said, and turned away, nearly running off. Claudia let go of the child, who ran off to her father. She glared at the two they had all trusted since they were children.  
  
"I hope you're feeling proud of yourselves." she snarled. Then she turned away.  
  
And vowed never to set foot in that spiteful, bitter place again.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Two hours later...  
  
Kale had rarely been inside the main Circle Lair, which was hidden away just north of Stockholme, and even when he had, it had never been to meet the entire Conclave of Elders. The old men - sorcerors and powerful psychics born in bygone eras - had never liked the each other much, had only agreed to create what was known as The First Circle out of greed and necessity, certainly not out of trust. And yet here they were, swaggering out of their dark corners and calling him to him with sternness. He really could laugh at such self-importance.  
  
Oh, whatever. He would laugh at them no matter what.  
  
He was hushed through corridors, following a Black Crystal - psychics trained from birth to protect and serve the Elders. Perfect killers, the lot of them. None were as powerful as he was, but he knew better than take on more than two or three.  
  
They came to an intricately-carved door, that stood tall and majestic, proclaiming power and grandeur. Another show of pride and self-importance. He was fast getting used to those kinds of things in this place. Still, sometimes it still amazed him.  
  
"Lord Kale of Limerick comes to seek audience with the Conclave!" proclaimed the Black Crystal man in a voice Kale found overly loud. There was a moment of silence following this, and finally the doors opened. The Black Crystal stepped aside with a bow. Smiling as always, this time arrogantly and disdainfully, he stepped through the threshold and into the room.  
  
It seemed like a room without borders - only the door served to give any kind of understanding of the size and that only until it snapped shut with a dull thud. Then he was left in a room of near darkness.  
  
Suddenly a beam of light illuminated a spot that centered at what could have been the center of the room. Smiling anew at the cliché, he stepped into it quickly. He knew why he was here, knew that these old men were angry and afraid of what he'd done, but didn't care a wit. Long gone was the time when the Elders impressed him in any way. Only three men impressed him still. One was his brother, the powerful Master of Shadowlaw. One was the only man he saw as something like a friend, Everick the Shadow Walker. And the third was an immensely powerful enigma who had come to order him around - and had succeeded. None of the Elders were anything compared to either of these men.  
  
"Salutations, Lord Kale." came a disembodied voice that echoed through the cavern-like room. "I trust that you are well?"  
  
"As well as may be, my Lords." he replied with casual cheer "Limerick goes well these days, and I have no complaint."  
  
"Glad we are to learn this." snapped a second voice "However, it seems that Limerick has overstepped its bound a certain while back. I must tell you that there are many who were concerned over this."  
  
Yes, you must all have been, he thought, smirking inwardly. Such fool, beating around the bush. He had never liked haziness. To be direct and to the point, that was the way he was and the way he liked things to be. However, if they absolutely needed to talk like they were ignorant of any important event, well fine by him. He could play at that with the best of them.  
  
"I am not certain what you mean my Lords." he said, affecting a servile, affable pause. That made the Elders pause, it seem. He supposed few kept their composure in this situation. However, he had seen far worse, and this place, although undeniably impressive and well-built, had nothing to make him the least bit afraid.  
  
"I think that you do, " purred a third voice, lighter, a woman's voice. "You concocted an attack against the Commonwealth by attacking one of its organizations."  
  
"If you mean the SCD, then, I must say, my Lords, that the attack was warranted by the fact they they were interfering in Circle operations, and had caused the Limerick Lair and its environs much trouble."  
  
Mutterings. They didn't like his answers. He couldn't care less. Still he maintained a respectful attitude, an affable position. Let these fools think what they wanted. Plan what they wanted. Other plans, which were already in works and beyond their control, were those that he had an interest in. As far as he was concern, it was he who was doing these old fools a favor by coming to this little interview, not the other way around.  
  
The second voice came again. "You acted outside your jurisdiction, Lord Kale. That is plainly established. What say you to that?" There was an expectant silence.  
  
However, for Kale the answer came by itself. "I acted within the jurisdiction of Lair Lords, who may, as you all know, take action in another's territory if dealing with matters that have to do with his own. I was perfectly within my bounds."  
  
"You were completely outside of them!" exploded the first voice. "Your attack tipped MI6 as to our involvement, and underground aggressions have tripled in only three months. We are on the verge of a full-scale war, and you think you have not overstepped your bounds?!?"  
  
"If the Conclave of Elders is afraid of MI6, then I apologize for my actions." he said, humbly, but not without a mocking edge to his voice.  
  
The woman's voice returned. It did not purr this time. It was cold, almost brutal. "Do not show disrespect to the Conclave, young one. Your sweet tongue and your confidence does not make you like your brother Petrov, or 'Bison' as the renegade now calls himself. We will be watching you."  
  
Yes, like you said you'd watch Bison, Amelia, Rose and a few others. he thought Things and people are slipping trough your fingers, old fools. Have been for decades, and you can't admit it, probably can't even see it. He suddenly yearned for a nice, warm cup of wine back at Limerick. It was a much more pleasant position than standing in the middle of the light. Still, even though he wanted to leave, he did not want to do so without having the last word. So, assuming a respectful voice again, he spoke to the unseen Elders anew.  
  
"Elders, I have something to report about an strange individual I have met."  
  
He had their interest, he could feel it. "Speak and we will listen."  
  
"As you wish, my Lords. Weeks ago I was confronted with a strange man who seemed to possessed great Outer Powers and significant Inner ones. He had white hair, an rather ageless, stony face, white and grey clothes and seemed to refer to something like the Fates. Who, my Lords, might that be?"  
  
He was unprepared for what followed. Instead of the normal silence, he heard mutterings, loud comments and much consternation. The Elders logically seemed to know who the stranger was, and from the voices, it wasn't a man they liked. In fact, they seem rather to FEAR him. The Elders, who affected not to fear Bison himself, were afraid of this strange man. Intensely curious, Kale strained to hear the bits of conversation. He heard the word 'Ancient' 'Kel-Drashi' and 'Belsar', which seemed to be the stranger's name.  
  
"Have you had many contacts with this stranger, Lord Kale?" a voice asked as the tumult abated.  
  
"Once only, my Lords." he replied smoothly "At his instigation. And it was never repeated."  
  
"Very good." the voice sounded relieved "Make certain never to deal with such an individual again, Lord Kale. And if you ever meet him, send word to us immediately!"  
  
"As you command, Lords." he bowed.  
  
And it was over. Just like that. The light went off, and the great doors opened again. Grinning from ear to ear, Kale steeped outside and followed the Black Crystal back to his vehicle. He felt satisfied. Even though the meeting had largely been a waste of time, he had learned some precious information about this mysterious figure. Belsar. An Ancient. Very interesting tidbits. He wondered what his brother knew of these.  
  
He would be sure to tell him about it the next time they spoke.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
A few hours later...  
  
He had been right. He had needed to kill someone. The days past had been so frustrating, and his anger so pent-up, that he had been desperate to vent it. The job had come at exactly the right time. Heh, he may even thank the woman somehow, now that the job was done. Anyway, he was in a very good mood, for instead of one kill, he had actually had two.  
  
Finding the man had been easy. He always rented the same room, always with the same girl. He had learned that the girl always arrived first, so he had hidden himself inside the room, had waited patiently - well, mostly patiently - and had finally heard the woman - red-haired, young, cute little thing, enter the room. He had moved before she could even shriek, Breaking her neck in one fine twist. Ah, the sensation of power that this act always seemed to give him - few things could even compare. It had put him in a fine mood, and he had put the woman in the bed and waited some more, almost whistling to himself. They were Betrayers, after all. Killing Betrayers gave him pleasure, as it should to all people.  
  
The man had struggled more, had tried to fight back. However, so that no one could see anything of his normal style in this latest kill, he had used a steel baseball bat. Although the man had fought, a few solid blows had taken him down, and he'd bashed on the head until it was nothing but a wet puddle on the floor. Then he had thrown the bat down, opened the door, checked for signs of life and voilà, he had been out of the motel and out of the neighborhood in not time. A good day.  
  
He really needed more days like this. It would make things more livable for him.  
  
Sigh. Now he was returning to his basement-apartment, located where nobody cared. Perhaps this time Laureen would talk to him. Perhaps she'd changed her mind about him. Very entertaining thought, that. However, he was wise enough to see that it was nearly impossible. She probably wouldn't see the Truth before quite a while yet. He had to be patient. It was quite alright with him - he had patience to spare for a while yet now!  
  
It was when he opened the door to the apartment that this all changed for him. He heard a crash coming from inside, and lunged through the door, slamming it behind him and running through the place that was how he found the girl, Laureen, outside her room, face now fearful and desperate as she saw him standing there. He looked at her in disbelief, and then shot a look at the door itself.  
  
It had been forced open by the inside. She had torn up a piece of wood from the couch and used it as a tool, battering the lock, until that part of the door fell apart. A lot of work, which must have taken a lot of time. If he'd returned only ten minutes later, she would have been long gone. And he'd probably have been in no end of trouble.  
  
He had trusted her to stay.  
  
She had betrayed that.  
  
The thought made him angry. Not only because it was true, but because it also meant that since she had betrayed, she could no longer be considered Pure. She was now nothing more than a Betrayer herself, and it hurt him. No, it did more than just hurt. It burned him. He had trusted her, had actually GIVEN her his trust! And she'd betrayed him.  
  
He glared at her and her eyes widened, desperately she tried to scoot past him, but his arm lashed out, and he caught her quickly, trusting her back into her old room. He didn't use any of the gentleness now. He felt betrayed, he felt that his day was ruined, and he needed a new outlet. And since she wasn't Pure anymore, he didn't have to hold back because of her. Not anymore.  
  
He thrust her head forward forced her face him. Her eyes weren't as calm as they were before. Now they were terrified and filled more with despair than loathing. He could appreciate why. And also tell himself that she was damn right to feel that way.  
  
"You must be feeling pretty proud of yourself, heh?" he growled "Thought I was so nice, so easy to fool! And you were right, I walked right into your little thing, you little bitch! You had me going there, you had me actually trusting you!"  
  
She didn't answer, her breath coming fast, her eyes wide. She was starting to tremble, but he was unmoved.  
  
"Oh no. The silent treatment won't work anymore. You betrayed. Which means you're one of them. A Betrayer. And I'll have you talk, I'll have you talk, I can assure you." and with that he grabbed her arm and started to twist it, relentlessly. "I'll stop when you ask me to release it."  
  
She gasped at the pain, forced her lips to close tightly. Stubborn woman. Very prideful. Used to having what she wanted. He could admire her for it. But she wouldn't last forever. Few there were who could withstand such pain long, and she wasn't one of those people.  
  
At length she couldn't help but whimper, pitiful things that might have moved another, but not he. He continued with the pressure. And finally she could resist it not more.  
  
"Stop. Let me go!" she said in a smile voice. He smiled darkly.  
  
"Say please."  
  
She shot him a fearful, yet indignant look. "W-what?"  
  
"YOU HEARD ME! PLEAD! BEG! ONLY THEN WILL I RELEASE YOU!" He bellowed, twisting even harder, right at the edge of breaking the bones. Her face worked and spasmed, and her pride started to crumble.  
  
"Please..." she whispered.  
  
"What?"  
  
"I SAID PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME GO IT HURTS, OH LORD IT HURTS! PLEASE LET ME GO!"  
  
He let go with a smile. She gasped again, clutching her left arm, her teeth chattering. HE didn't want her off the hook that easily. In fact, he didn't want her off the hook at all. He grinned, thinking of what he might do, and decided very quickly. He grabbed her chin, jerked her face towards her. Her eyes were now tearful from the pain, and only filled with terror now. Good. That's how he wanted things. He'd show her for betraying him and his dreams and his damn whole day, the bitch!  
  
"This entire week, you treated me like a contemptible kidnapper." he said softly "I wanted to kill you for that, and for the silent treatment you gave me. Not a day passed that I didn't want to beat you so completely that you'd beg for death by the end. And that's what I want to do right now. You following me thus far, little British bitch?"  
  
Her violent shakes answered for her. Caressing her tear-damp cheeks, he continued his little litany in earnest.  
  
"But I won't you see. I can't. Even after all you've done to me, I won't. Do you want to know why?" he forced her to nod with his hand. "Why, its because I have a plan for you. A very personal plan. I wished for your agreement, but right now I don't care for it."  
  
She looked at him in panic as he rose and walked to the broken door, closing it and pulling the couch firmly against it. But it seemed her mouth worked on its own, through her fear, for she voiced her thoughts loudly.  
  
"W-w-what...p-p-plans?" she asked in a small voice.  
  
He smiled. A very dark, nasty smile. "Don't worry yourself over it. You'll find out soon enough." And with that he came toward her.  
  
The insonorisation kept the noise low, but some one standing near the door could have heard a woman's voice, screaming first in denial, then in fear and horror, and then in despair. That person would also have her the grunts of a man and the distinct sound of a hand slapping or hitting flesh. After a while, the noise abated, and only broken, humiliated sobs remained that could be heard for a long while. That was if someone who cared had heard it. But the only person who heard it was one who didn't care at all, wanted it this way in fact.  
  
The sobs continued long. And then the noises would start again.  
  
And Thomas Storm was happy that night.  
  
_________________________________________________  
  
Hehehe! Yeah, another chap! Told you the next one'd be quick! I hope you guys don't mind. I actually had fun writing this, cuz it finally puts some things in perspective, at least for me! Well, its 1h40 AM, I'm sleepy, so I'll be leaving you! Hope you like it! ^_^  
  
See you on the Third Interlude!  
  
Jeremy MemphisLong27 


	25. Interlude III

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Interlude III  
  
February 7, 1998  
  
"...they didn't even CARE about what that crazy MONSTER might do! All they cared about was...was that I was going to go AFTER him.!"  
  
Jeremy knew he was starting to become redundant, and that his voice was starting to show cracks wider than San Andreas. For the past half an hour, he had done nothing but rant about in Cammy's apartment, trying to vent not only his anger, but the biting feeling of - nothingness - that had taken hold of him. He saw the braided woman sitting on the couch in front of him, looking at him in concern, and fought the urge to laugh another bitter laugh. This time he stopped himself. She didn't deserve it. He wouldn't show it in front of her.  
  
It was hitting him bad, he knew. But why wouldn't it? They were his adoptive parents! Moreover, he had no recollection of anyone else taking care of him like they had - his real parents had died when he was far too young. It had been Mattew who had taught him to swim, it was Samantha who'd baked the first birthday cake he ever remember having, it was they who had taken him to the clinic when he hadn't felt well, it was they who had consoled him when he had hurt himself. They had been his real family. Mattew, Samantha...Tom. They had been his family. There had been so much happiness.  
  
And now...Thomas had gone crazy, and become one of the men he hated the most. And those he considered his parents - they'd lied to him, turned his back on him and had finally hurt him so badly that he couldn't stand their sight. He suddenly felt nauseated, and slumped into the couch just next to the woman he loved. His mind was so broken up, he found himself considering if something might not happen between them. Maybe she'd find someone else, someone better, and then...  
  
He closed his eyes. He wasn't in any condition to even consider that.  
  
"Jer..."  
  
He didn't respond. The voice seemed to come from so far away, in a world that his grief didn't touch. He kept his eyes closed, trying to make sense of a world that no longer made sense to him anymore.   
  
"Jer...love, please look at me."  
  
The voice penetrated his wall of chaos and despair, because of the gentleness he felt coming from it, a gentleness and a genuine concern that was only directed at him. He opened his eyes, to look at a face that, usually stern and cold, was now soft and caring.  
  
"Don't do this to yourself, Jer." said Cammy, "I-I can't say that I can really UNDERSTAND how you feel about this, cuz I've never known that level of happiness in my life. But I don't want you, won't have you think you've lost everything. You still have got Giorgio, Mark, Julia and some of the Elites. And then there's the Street Fighters around the world you've befriended. And there's Rose, too." she paused, sliding closer "And you have me. THAT will NEVER change."  
  
"Never? You're sure?" he asked. He knew he must sound like some pitiful fool, but he felt too lost to really care about what he was saying anymore. She looked at him with eyes that showed hurt, surprise and irritation. So intense was her gaze that for a moment, he thought he might get a whack for his words. But the eyes lost their hardness, and the face that looked a him only looked sad and a little hurt.  
  
"I...I've never loved anyone like you." she said "I've never even considered anyone else but you with me."  
  
"Cammy..." he said, choked a bit. She brought herself closer still. She was sitting just next to him now.  
  
"You gave me back what I'd lost - my feelings, my freedom, my very life." she whispered tenderly "Don't ever think I don't want to be with you. Never think that. Ever." And with that she gave him a slight, loving hug.  
  
It was that hug, it seemed to him, which made it all start up. His mind, lost and floundering, latched upon this show of affection and directed his body to expand on it. He returned the hug, with more passion, and, after a very short moment of hesitation - at least to his normal frame of actions - he started to kiss her. It might have ended there, he was rather certain of that, if she had pushed him away, or told him to stop right then and there. But she didn't. Instead she returned the kiss with equal passion, and hug him harder in her turn. Gravity eventually worked its way into the whole thing, and since Jeremy was the heaviest of the two by far, it was normal that he would fall on top of her.  
  
Such was his state of mind that he did not consider the potential dangers of the situation, the possibilities of it. He only continued to embrace her, and started to kiss the side of her neck, his hands starting to caress her athletic body a bit clumsily. He didn't open his eyes to the fact that she was starting to hyperventilate, a sign that should have been warning enough from the last time they had...tried. But he wasn't as sharp as he'd been then, still feeling lost, still latching. He barely heard the soft moan of terror she gave out.  
  
It was only when a cry of terror and anger mounted that he remembered where he was, what he was doing and with whom. The stable part of his mind cursed him with many colorful expletives, and he pulled back, looking at her, preparing to give an apology for this way he had been with her a moment ago. He never got the chance.  
  
At the last moment he saw a flash of her rageful, terror-stricken face and the fist swinging in her direction. Twelve years of sharpened reflexes caused his head to twist, but it still caught him pretty squarely. He felt pain explode, and clutched his nose, which had received the worst of it. Not broken, a relief. But it still hurt. A startled gasp made him turn back to his lover.  
  
Cammy was looking at him, then her fist with wide, disbelieving eyes. She put her hand forward and touched his nose lightly, came back with some red stains on it. So it had bled a little. No big deal to him. But she took it very badly. She looked back at him, back at her hand, and then her eyes filled with tears, and she started to rise from the couch in a panic. Knowing what was about to happen, he reacted instinctively and caught hold of her, bringing her against him. She struggled fiercely for a moment, but finally erupted in sobs. He felt like doing the same, but knew that if he did, it might make her feel worse.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!" she said frantically, sniffling. "I didn't want to, I-I just, I didn't see you, I was...I-I-I, Jer I didn't want to do that, I did-mf."  
  
He cut her off with another kiss, unable to hear anymore of it. It wasn't a kiss made out of passion, but a loving one, to show her she had nothing to apologize for. She didn't respond, and when it ended she still sobbed, lost in her own misery. He held her tightly.  
  
Damn Bison!  
  
Damn the way he'd acted!  
  
He knew he had been wrong. He had hurt her involuntarily. This was his fault, even if she didn't see it that way. It was his fault.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Around the same time...  
  
She had to escape.  
  
That was the thought that had always taken precedence in her mind, ever since she had been drunk that night, and that he'd killed Francesca. She hadn't really seen it - thank God for that - but had faintly felt it all happen. She knew her friend had suffered and had died hopeless and frightened. Not the way one should die. One should die calmly, surrounded by loved ones, to make the passing easier and take the edge off the fear of the unknown. Francesca hadn't had that chance. Because of him.  
  
She'd hated him for it, but mostly hated herself for making the situation happen. So she had settled to endure him by taking on a silent, uncaring facade. It seemed to have worked. He was annoyed by it but also felt some kind of twisted admiration for her attitude. He had fed her well, let her take a shower or a bath without being a bother, and had left her alone most of the time. It had been a lonely time, but at least she felt she wasn't in immediate danger. Even when he came, she knew how to deal with him. It had become a kind of game for her - a game to keep from going mad.  
  
But, even though she wasn't in any immediate danger, this was still a cage. And she'd wanted to leave it, leave this madman - for that was what he was, his forced gentleness didn't hide the sick, tormented mind underneath very well. So she come up with a plan to escape, trying to decide when the best time would be. She had managed to dislodge a large piece of wood that she could use to bash the lock that kept the door close. She had hid the piece, using this strange trust he seemed to have in her. She'd also measured the time it usually took him to do his 'jobs' and had come up with the minimum.  
  
And then he'd come quite close to hitting her once, just before going on a job, and she knew that her time was running short. Each day the good will was eroding. She had tried to make her escape.  
  
And had failed.  
  
She could still cry about it now.  
  
She had used the log to bash at the lock, which had resisted more than she had thought it would. But it wouldn't have, SHOULDN'T have been a problem. She knew she hadn't come up with the minimum time it usually took him. But luck had simply not been with her, Fate had decided to laugh at her evilly, for he'd come back just as she'd succeeded. He had seen her, had given her a look of someone hurt and betrayed. Like it was her fault. Like she wasn't supposed to do this to him.  
  
And it was the night it all began.  
  
He had not only been harsh with her that night, he had been monstrous. He'd hurt her, than, with sadistic glee, had raped her, hitting her everytime she begged or cried out. Beaten, raped, abused. All night, all the time, until finally, after one last time, the stress, the despair and the pain had become far too much for her, and she'd sunk into merciful oblivion.  
  
He had relaxed since then. In fact, no night with him had ever been as bad as that first one. But there had been changes. And not for the better.   
  
He was now far less polite, usually giving orders. He always seemed to be checking on her, like a wolf, a very hungry, dangerous wolf. And he'd never let her have even the limited freedom she had had before. When he was in the apartment, he still kept her chained to the bed by the ankle. It was a long chain - about twenty feet - but it still hampered her, and prevented her from getting out of the room, much less the apartment. And when he'd go on a job, he chain her hands behind her back with handcuffs, and taped her mouth, making sure she'd be still and silent. She had learned that it was better not to resist when he did this, for he'd beaten her when she had, the first time.   
  
But the worst was when he came back from a foray or a 'job'. He always seemed strangely high in spirits when he came back - as if killing someone, even someone who had supposedly 'betrayed' was supposed to be fun and energizing. That's when he come to her, and take her. At least once, if not more. Chained and helpless as she was. And then, before he liberated her, he'd tell her what he'd done, how he'd killed.  
  
To her, this was by far the worst. To hear the glee and the pleasure when he explained deaths and suffering, talking as if the people he killed deserved this treatment. He'd hurt them so much, and he was so glad. Sometimes she cried when he told her that, her cries muffled by the gag. He didn't seem to notice.  
  
But there were two things she had noticed these past days.  
  
First, he had become more and more volatile, his mind growing less and less reasonable. The sickness in his mind was changing him into something else. Before, he seemed to have some code of morals that held him together, even as twisted as they were. Now, now she wasn't sure that he had them. If he did, they were starting to lose their focus fast. She saw it. Day by day he became more maniacal, more demented. More dangerous.  
  
The second was the worst of it all. She hadn't had her period. She had a very strict period and she had passed it. That could only mean one thing. She didn't want to really consider the possibility, but it was definitely there. She was bright enough to see it.  
  
She was pregnant.  
  
With HIS child. There was nothing else now. Just one imperative for her and, also, for the child she may well be carrying.  
  
She had to escape.  
  
Or they were both doomed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Five days later...  
  
Today Rose was taking the whole day off. No place to go, no people to visit or visiting, nothing important to do. It wasn't something she indulged herself into very often, even though she knew she had more then enough time to take things easy. But this week - no the last whole month - had been somewhat hectic, with some psychics coming to visit her to discuss the tidings of the world. Bison was up to something that might well augment his power in the underworld, and few people amongst the powerful but very secret psychic community liked the idea of one already so powerful gaining so much influence in the world. She was first among those who were concerned, even going as far as to suggest that the Ancients - Muldo, Belsar or Alvarez or even some of the lesser one- actually take part of the little seminars they had. But it was no use. The Ancients always did things their way, whatever happened. She supposed that's what might happen to her if she lived to be -oh, how old was the youngest supposed to be? A millenium?  
  
She hoped not. Hoped she never become so old and so blasé that caring and compassion will just go away to stony indifference. Muldo, the oldest Ancient, could blow Bison away with barely an effort, but prefered to stay enclosed inside his fortress hidden deep in the Amazonian forests, studying life and its meaning. Alvarez was inside his castle-like mansion, built high in the Himalayas, surrounded by his books of arcane lore, ever refining his magical powers, he who was already the strongest mage in the world. As for Belsar...well...who could guess with Belsar? The most chaotic of Ancients, he usually was more compassionate, but rarely gave tangible help.  
  
Oh, no, she wasn't going to bother herself with that. Not today. Today was her day OFF. And she meant it. No distractions, no problems, no nothing!  
  
She took the book she was casually reading these days - London by Edward Rutherfurd, a nine-hundred pages thing that she found rather accurate and very interesting - and made her way to her well-furnished living with some icy-lemonade and flopped down on the couch, opening the book to start the chapter intitulated The Tower, and which was set in the year 1078. She was comfortably installed there, reading casually and sipping her drink, when there was a tap on the door. At the sound, she scowled. A visitor. Today, that was the last thing she wanted.  
  
"Can't have even one day, one lousy DAY without something happening, someone knocking and asking things or selling useless junk and...gah! Can't people just leave me alone?!?" she said in a grumbling voice that would have astounded anyone who knew her for the ever-calm woman she usually was, and rose from her comfortable place and STALKED rather than WALKED to the door. Silently vowing vowing that if it was another man selling hairdryers, she was going to use her powers to break the thing into pieces, she opened the door, using her years of efforts to appear calm while she fumed inside.  
  
"Yes, what is it?" she said, a little irritation showing. Then she realized who it was. "Cammy? What are you doing here?"  
  
It was indeed the braided SCD, standing near the door, her shoulders slumped a little, her face stony, but her eyes showing a searing, destructive pain. Seeing this, Rose's initial irritation at the minor ruining of a fine day turned to immediate concern for her young friend.  
  
"Rose." said Cammy "I need your help."  
  
She could tell what 'help' she meant just by the effort it had taken her to ask. But even then, she had to make things clear for the both of them. "About what, dear?"   
  
Cammy put an hand to her head gently. "This. I want this o-o-out of me." her lips started to quiver "I can't l-l-live w-with this anymore! Be-because everytime I want to be intimate with him, this f-fear comes around, and each time its worse, and each day I want to be with him a little more, a-and I j-j-just..." she stopped, still retaining some control on her emotions, but not much. Rose felt the turmoil inside of her, however, tearing at her very soul. She stepped forward and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
  
This seemed to have the effect of opening the dam of emotions the SCD was keeping inside of her, for as soon as she was touched, she fairly broke down.  
  
"He...he only just...just wanted to...b-be comforted...a-a-and I...I HIT HIM! I HIT HIM!" she was almost wailing like a child now. But right now, Rose felt that's what she was. Not a strong young woman, but a lost child. Rose put both hands on her shoulders firmly but gently.  
  
"Cammy. Cammy, look at me." she ordered. At length, she had her attention. "Don't think like this. It's not your fault! And it's not his fault! You two loved each other and wanted to get more intimate. That's natural! That fear doesn't really come from you, but from you treatment by Bison."  
  
"I know that." Cammy nodded. "But it was MY hand that hit him when he was just...just..." she trailed off.  
  
Rose sighed. This might take a while. But at least the child had come seeking help at last, to get rid of this nightmare that stalked inside her head, preventing her from following the natural steps of her relationship, preventing her from really putting the experiments and the abuse behind her. She pulled Cammy inside gently.  
  
"Come with me Cammy." she stated gently "And tell me everything. Then we will see what can be done."  
  
Yep, her day was ruined.  
  
But somehow, she felt like this was a victory today. She had come for help. Perhaps the nightmares would finally end for her.  
  
Rose would endeavor to make it so.  
  
__________________________________________________  
  
Okay, the third Interlude, bridging another two parts. Hope you like it! I'll be writing more to you soon. As I said, I got the time this week! ^_^  
  
See ya in Chapter 22 of Will and Fate!  
  
Jeremy 


	26. Chapter 22

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 22  
  
February 12, 1998  
  
"I'm still not sure what I'm doing here." grumbled Jeremy.  
  
The rookie Lewis Glosshouse, who was actually only a single year younger, seemed to take that as something which needed answering.  
  
"Why, sir, I had these places for the London Karate Tournament, and since you're the most experienced in Karate, I thought that you migh like it more than any of the others."  
  
"I like karate." he retorted "Doing karate. Watching's not the same thing as doing." he sighed "Oh, well, I didn't have anything to today." especially since Cammy's off to Italy, he finished silently. He watched as two karate fighters took their positions on the fighting tatami. One was a big, muscular man, serious, a mean face, while the other was slighter, seemed relatively shy, and was far less muscular.  
  
"The big one's Fred Herman and the small one's Kevin Sherry." said Glosshouse.  
  
Jeremy nodded, and a moment later the announcer bellowed these very names as the first semi-finalists. The crowd cheered, deafening him. He wondered at how inconsequential the noise was when fighting and how irritating it was when simply listening in. He wasn't much of a watcher of fights, and so rapidly started to get bored. Vaguely, he heard people placing bets. He looked at Lewis.  
  
"Hey, who are people betting on? Herman or Sherry?" he asked.  
  
"Why Herman, of course. And so will I as soon as I can get there sir." answered Lewis, rising from his chair. Jeremy put an hand on his shoulder to stop him. He gave the younger man a smile that seemed to be slightly mocking.  
  
"No, here's what you're going to do." he said lightly "You're gonna take these twenty pounds and bet them on Sherry. As for your money, you'll do the same. Sherry's going to win, he's far more in flow today, I can feel it from the way he's holding himself."  
  
Glosshouse looked at the two fighters. "I dunno, sir, he seems pretty shy to me."  
  
"Shyness...it means nothing. Look at the details, Glosshouse. See the way he looks, she the absence of tension in his frame. That's someone who has a plan, someone who's already found the perfect way to defeat his opponent. Believe me, rookie, Sherry's going to win. I can guarantee you that.  
  
Glosshouse appeared completely unconvinced, but nodded. "If you say so, sir."  
  
"Just bet my money on Sherry, at least." Jeremy sighed. As the man went for his bets, he lost all need and reason to watch the fight - he already knew who was going to win it, it was just TOO plain - and drifted back to what had been bugging him for days now: what had happened with Cammy.  
  
He understood he had been feeling like a broken man - heck he still felt like that in the background - and that he had latched on to the affection he she had given him like a drowning man would hang on to a floating piece of wood to save himself, but hadn't he gone too far, too fast? That was what he thought. He remembered he had been lost between passion and misery and because of the strength of both these emotion, he had been unable to pull back immediately when the young woman had started to hyperventilate, as he should have done without an hint of hesitation. He hadn't, and so he had received a very nice and strong pitch in the face. He had deserved it. It was his fault, after all.  
  
Problem was, SHE didn't think so. In fact she happened to think he hadn't deserved it at all. Well, maybe not a punch, true, but he had deserved being pushed back. He hadn't listened to sign and had received something to get his head straight. That was his argument and he had stood by it that evening and the days after.  
  
However she said that he was wrong, that she'd wanted what was happening, that she hadn't been forced into anything and that her answer had been driven by a fear that wasn't hers - he'd agreed with that part - and that if she had to find a way to remove it somehow if she wanted to live with herself AND with him. He had found himself a little distraught. He could remember what they'd said well...  
  
"I'm going to go see Rose." she had said softly "Let her look into my head and get that bloody fear out of me. Rip it out if she must!"  
  
He hadn't liked the way it sounded. "Rose told me that it could be dangerous Cammy." he'd said urgently "It could damage you if it wasn't successful!"  
  
"Its worth the risks!"  
  
"No! It most certainly IS NOT worth the risks! Just because we can't have sex doesn't mean we can't love each other!"  
  
She had seemed to actually angry at that. "OH YEAH? Well, I've seen the way you look at me sometimes. Oh, don't look sheepish you know its true. And I've given you the same looks. Do you honestly think we could spend all our days together, wanting everyday but never able? I don't think so."  
  
He had found himself unable to answer that. Probably because he felt the truth that there was in what she was telling him. Yes, as much animalistic it made him feel, he had to admit that a part of the love he felt for her was made out of lust. Not the greater part, a very small one really. But it was there. Mankind was a race of animals, after all. And animals lusted. Still, he knew that it didn't matter somehow, that he could bypass the lust. However, she hadn't been finished.  
  
"And even more importantly, I don't want to hit a man I'm in love with everytime he starts getting a little intimate with me. I just can't live like this."  
  
And that, as people always said so well, was that. The conversation had ended with this, with both being too uncomfortable to continue it. And two days later, she had arranged for a short trip to Italy.  
  
And now she was gone there, had forbidden him to follow, not wanting him adding to the pressure. He supposed she was right, but it didn't make things any easier for him. He still worried, worried that something would go wrong, that it would be unsuccessful or worse or that something would change in his Cammy. Strange words those. When had it started to become HIS Cammy? After they really both confessed their love? Maybe it had been it. Still, he felt weird, when he only thought them. He wondered if she ever thought like that about him. HER Jeremy. He found it not unpleasant, come to think of it. Like being a piece of furniture. Or like the sheets of her bed, which espouse her magnificent curves and forms so well that...  
  
Okay. He needed to relax more. This wasn't helping.   
  
He turned his attention back to the fight just in time to hear the roar of the crowd as Herman was definitely pitched off the fighting circle by a rather well-placed roundhouse and chops combo. He smirked slightly. Then he spied the disbelieving look on Lewis' face, and his smirk widened into a full smile.  
  
"You DID bet MY money on Sherry?" he asked gently.  
  
"Yeah." dazed voice  
  
"But YOU didn't bet on Sherry." he prodded.  
  
"Yeah." more bitter tone, now.  
  
"Your loss."  
  
Glosshouse looked at him for many long moments, studying him, and then finally exploded. "But how could you KNOW?!?" he exclaimed "Herman was the most experienced and the most skilled. By rights he should have won!"  
  
As an answer, Jeremy pointed to the stands near Sherry. Glosshouse followed the finger and came two rest on two person. One was a woman of perhaps thirty years old, the other a little girl of no more than five. Both were wildly applauding and waving, and Sherry seemed to be waving back only to them.  
  
"That's..." said Lewis. Jeremy nodded.  
  
"His family, I'd wager. Sherry didn't have the skill, but he had the real goals, the real reasons, the most potent will." he leaned back. "And when you will something hard enough, things might just happen."  
  
Pretty words. He hoped they were true.   
  
For right now he was willing Cammy to come back to him alright.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
Two days later...  
  
The villa was located just outside of Huelva, overlooking the beautiful white beaches of spain, with a large lawn dotted here and there by colorful flowers and fountains, all surrounded by a lightwood of pines, oaks and firtrees that cut off the place from the rest of the world. The house itself was made out of white brick and marble, with super works of art on this display around it and inside it. The villa was two-storied villa was large and its interior was magnificent - a place for the wealthy, the powerful, but mostly for the vain. It had been built under the specification of Henandros de Torres the Third, the man who had become the dangerous Spanish Assassin evermore known as Vega. He had had both the money - from his parents' extensive fortunes, now his, and the tidy sums he often obtained while working for Shadowlaw. Yes, he had been a man feared and admired - and rightly so.  
  
But this wasn't the way it was anymore.  
  
Not to the man sitting in a wheelchair in the morning's air, looking at the beach and the blue waters in bitterness and self-disgust. The man had been strong and muscular, blond and remarkably beautiful. No more. He had faint scars on his face now, which was gaunt and fierce, and the tonus of his upper body had lost its edge, losing the fine tone, gaining a bit of fat. As for the lower body, it was covered with a black blanket to hide the bony legs that hadn't felt anything in months. This was a wretched man.  
  
And yet it was Vega, the Spanish Assassin, so feared and respected, now loathed and ridiculed in the underworld.  
  
All because of that BITCH Chunli, who had sent him to the hospital, and because of that trice-damned BASTARD Giorgio Castillo, who had snapped his back and made him a worthless paraplegic. Even Bison had quit wanting to kill him, it was said, finding Vega's disgrace a much more fitting punishment for his unacceptable failure. He was left alive when he had wanted so much to die. Giorgio had given him the choice of suicide, but suicide was for the weak, not for a De Torres and certainly not for Vega. Dying at the hands of a worthy opponent, like Sagat would have killed him had the Muy Thai Champion followed through on his orders, would have been acceptable. But this - to live and become shriveled and old, ridiculed by all, when they should have feared him so much that all people in Spain would whisper his name - this was worse than death. Far worse.  
  
With a snarl of fury, he grabbed the nearest statue of pure white marble - made on the image of a teen crush he had had - and flung it to the tiled floor, shattering it to bits. Not that it mattered. Servants would clean it up. He needed the release.  
  
"Ah, I see you're breaking statues now." came a calm, cold voice that held that little touch of compassion and pity that Vega hated, "Be careful. These things cost much money."  
  
He knew that voice. It belonged to one like him, one of the few like him whom he considered an equal assassin, and a man worthy of his discussion. That was before, however. Before his fall. Now that voice only brought anger.  
  
"Everick," growled the man, "If you have nothing intelligent to say, bastardo, you can just leave and let me live what remains of my life in peace."  
  
"Such brutal words." chided the man, coming into view. Vega's eyes widened at the sight. Instead of the black clothes, the Shadow walker wore a white t-shirt, blue jeans, elegant but practical sneakers and wore sunglasses and a dark blur cap. He barely recognized him. When he did, he almost laughed. Everick noticed the mirth immediately and gave him a friendly smile - the first genuine, friendly smile he'd sen in months. "Ah, I see you have remarked on my guise. Well, even the Shadow Walker doesn't ALWAYS wear black."  
  
"So it seems." chuckled Vega despite himself, but the mirth soon faded away "Now what are you doing here?"  
  
"I have two reasons. First, I was coming to see how an old friend was doing."  
  
"I'm still not sure we've ever BEEN friends." shot back Vega caustically "But since you asked, here you can see the answer to your question. I live. I go on. Nothing more, nothing less. I have more than enough wealth to last me my lifetime in luxury."  
  
"You don't look like a man wallowing in luxury, my friend." Everick observed. You look more like a slowly rotting corpse."  
  
"That's all I am." was the bitter reply.  
  
Every frowned. Obviously he didn't like the way he had responded. So what? No paint off his wall. He was in the position where he didn't care others thought of him. He knew nothing could make him feel worse than he did.  
  
Everick looked at him with a disapproving look. "I never expected you to become such a weak-willed man, Vega."  
  
Screw the fact he thought nothing could hurt him. This hit the exact spot. In fact, being accused of weakness by one of the few men that he had respected and even liked in his line of work made him furious. Completely, absolutely furious.  
  
"BASTARDO!" he screamed. "IF I HAD MY TWO LEGS STILL I'D SHOW YOU A THING OR TWO ABOUT WILLPOWER. YOU AND CHUNLI AND CASTILLO!!!"  
  
Everick gave a soft laugh. "That's more like the Vega I remember! Glad to see there's still some of that ruthless fire in you."  
  
"Is that why you're here?" shot back Vega hotly. "To get my goat? In that case, don't bother! I'm well able to get angry on my own."  
  
The other man nodded, as if this fact didn't surprise him one little bit. And it probably didn't Surprising Everick was, as far as Vega was concerned, as impossible as making the Moon sing. It was one of the traits that he had liked right off, even more then the powers or the efficiency. He still liked it now, even though it annoyed him. The man who walked in the shadows approached the fallen assassin he leaned toward his right ear.  
  
"Do you still want to kill those who made you that way?" he whispered.  
  
THAT got his attention, and he turned his eyes to meet the sunglassed ones squarely. What could the man want by asking him that? To him, it didn't make any sense that he should. Did he not see the state he was in. Vengeance against the two who did him that horror was impossible! Surely that was plain!  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Just answer the question. Do you?"  
  
Vega gritted his teeth. "Of course I do! But I cannot now. Can't you see I can't use my legs anymore, idioto?"  
  
Everick gave him a cold smile. "If you regained your legs, would you be able to retrain yourself back to your peak, even past it?" he stared hard into Vega's eyes, the Spanish could feel the gaze through the sunglasses. "Could you, Vega?"  
  
He returned the stare pound for pound. "Of course I could. I would need to surpass myself to kill Chunli, and Castillo has powerful friends. But I could. Of course I could."  
  
The other man stood up, gave another warm smile, and tapped the man on the shoulder. Vega was stumped. What was he up to? What did he want? Everick had always been so feared because his motives always seemed to be either straight and flat or completely mysterious, with no grey in between. So why was he leading him on? The curiosity, the desire to know this was killing him.  
  
"Very well. Consider your back wound healed. I know a person who can operate such a wound, in Toronto, a very eccentric, brilliant neurosurgeon, who happens to owe me a very big favor."  
  
Vega was stunned. "What? You would do that? Why?"  
  
"It would not be a free deal. There is something you will have to do for me. It will take some time away from you, but you might find it interesting. Just this condition I will name...once you accept."  
  
Vega thought about refusing the offer, than looked at the blanket that covered his legs, looked at his wasting body. Then he thought about what he could do, with his legs back. He could get revenge. No need to attack Chunli carelessly like the last time. This time he could be far, far subtler. As for Castillo, he would prepared something the bastard would never forget.  
  
He looked at Everick squarely, his old, smug smile returning after months of absence.  
  
"I accept, amigo. Name your condition."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The day after...  
  
Rose took a deep breath. Although she wouldn't tell it to the younger woman - it would only make her even more fearful when if she did - she didn't feel too good about what they were about to attempt. A mind - no matter how strong, or how controlled - was a fragile collection of thoughts that defined a personality. To seep one's will into it was dangerous at best, especially if another high-level psychic had already meddle in it. But she wouldn't say any of this, wouldn't talk about the risks. They were better left unsaid. Anyway, she had the feeling Cammy knew about them, or could surmise them.  
  
She gave the woman seated in front of her an encouraging look. "Are you ready, dear?" she asked "We can always put it off to later, if that were your wish."  
  
The braided woman shook her head, although anyone could have seen how reluctant she was. She was also very determined, however. "I want this thing off now, before I get too scared of this and reconsider."  
  
"So, you are afraid?" Rose asked, but it wasn't mocking, just gently establishing a fact.  
  
"Wouldn't you be?"  
  
The lavender-haired psychic gave off a smile at that. Touché. Even in this type of situation, the young SCD kept all her wits. Good sign. The sign of a strong mind. "Yes, Cammy. I think I would be very much afraid. But I will do my very best to insure nothing happens.  
  
A nod. "I trust you." and then she closed her eyes.  
  
I trust you. What a sweet yet terrible thing to say to a psychic. Sweet, because it wasn't something her kind heard often from the 'normal' people - if Cammy, with her own powers, could be considered that. And terrible, because so many who trusted saw their hopes and their lives shattered because of them. This could be the same case here. If she messed up with her mind, not only would the poor girl be different, paranoid and untrusting, if not downright crazy, but Jeremy, who was dear to her for reasons he should be coming to understand, would want to kill her. And she would want him to.  
  
Another breath. "Very well. Let us commence." And she closed her own eyes, calling upon her powers, letting it flow.  
  
She directed the power toward Cammy's mind, tentatively. She asked permission to the subconscious, who responded with wariness. Unsurprising, after all the attacks it had suffered before. She asked again, forming her flow to be as gentle and as compassionate as she could make it. The subconscious responded to it rather harshly, but finally gave way, just a crack. It seemed Cammy's trust extended up to her defenses, event though it was far more tenuous. She penetrated the mind of her friend without forcefulness.  
  
And then it was like a corridor that Rose saw in her mind, a corridor that led to what seemed like a cave from which sprouted many golden, leafless trunks. The forest of being. The different aspects that made a person. She touched the first trunk, and was rewarded with an image of Cammy and what she read as Mark Culhen, deep in conversation, going over a plan of some kind. The name of the trunk was announced within Rose's mind immediately.  
  
LOGIC.  
  
She made her way to another trunk, touched it lightly, and was rewarded with another image, and saw the image of Cammy, her eyes devoid of emotion, standing over the broken body off a man. Her face was marked, and even in her unemotional state she seemed tired. The man had known he was fighting for his life, and few could fight as well as a human being cornered like this. But, in the end, she had prevailed.  
  
SHAME.  
  
She shook her head. It seemed it would take a long time, if not all her lifetime, before Cammy started to understand that what she had done as a Shadowlaw doll wasn't her fault. But she wasn't here to help in there. She'd already took too many risks, touching aspects of Cammy's personality. Now she only use her mental abilities to discern the problem she had come to eradicate. With that though, she let her mind fly through the forest, searching for something out of the ordinary.  
  
It wasn't long before she found it.  
  
She found three golden trunks, and attached to them was a thick, purplish vine that seemed to choke them. She observed it. Seamless, completely attached to them. Bison's work, only a psychic of his level could ever hope to achieve such a feat. She touched the first trunk, and was rewarded with an image of Jeremy and Cammy. The young man had taken one of her hands, and was kissing it lightly, his eyes closed, while Cammy shot him a rather annoyed look but was blushing all the same. The name, when it came, didn't surprise her. LOVE. She touched the trunk next to her and was rewarded with...well...an interesting image. Had she really been there, she would've turned crimson because of it. LUST. And then the last trunk, which gave her an image of Cammy hugging herself, shivering, looking to a point beyond the image with a terrified expression. FEAR. It all fit.   
  
Bison had arranged it that everytime LUST and LOVE worked fully in unison, an enormous amount of FEAR would be released. Cruel, but very practical. Perfect to make a person suffer, JUST IN CASE that person ever broke his control. And now she had to break that with her own power, without damaging the golden trunks. She prepared a mental attack, directed only at the vine, and released it with outmost caution.  
  
As soon as she touched the vine, she felt a resistance, a force that refused to give up any ground to her. She pressed on the attack more forcefully, using all of her abilities to keep control of the situation.  
  
"How dare you interfere!" bellowed a deep voice she recognized, emanating from the vine. She was not impressed by it, for she knew it was only a psychic echo of Bison, not the man himself.  
  
"Let her go, Bison!" she hissed in her own turn, intensifying her attack. "She is no longer yours to do as you wish with!"  
  
"She will ALWAYS be mine! NO ONE escapes my power!" came the angry retort, given like it was laying down the law. And, as far as it was concerned, it was. But she had no time to waste on a mere shadow. the longer they fought, the greater the risk of damage. She pressed on again, but still the vine resisted. She knew she could increase her attacks even more, but to do that might start a devastating psychic feedback loop that could greatly damage the mind she was in. As it was, this was a deadlock.  
  
And it might have remained so if, from the three trunks, golden branches hadn't sprouted and started to pull at the vine. She could have cheered for it. Cammy's own mind was fighting Bison too. Whether it was intentional or not, it gave her the kind of leverage she needed. Steeling herself, her power pulled on the vine in unison with Cammy's mind, and, after a long moment of resistance, the vine started to loosen.  
  
"NO!" came Bison's furious bellow "I REFUSE TO ACCEPT IT! THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!"  
  
But the process had started, and once begun, there was no turning back. The vine choking LOVE broke first, and then followed by LUST. FEAR was more resistant, and she actually had to increase her attack for a moment to make it let go. But, with a final boom of outrage, it did let go, and the vine fell to the mind-formed ground. There, weakened, it was attacked by brilliant spheres of light that were a human's natural psychic defense. Without the power from the trunks, the vine was unable to ward them away, and it was devoured rapidly. It was over. Rose started to come back, leaving tree leafless threes now free of any taint.  
  
She came back within herself with a splitting headache, and actually had to put her head in her head for a moment, to steady her thoughts. When she had it rather under control, she looked back at Cammy, and saw that her eyes hadn't changed, keeping the same, intact mind behind it. The woman was shivering from the psychic shock, but would be alright.  
  
"Did it...work?" the braided SCD asked tentatively.  
  
Rose gave her a wan, exhausted smile, her head still throbbing painfully, yet feeling somewhat giddy. "Yes Cammy. It did. You no longer have to fear Bison."  
  
The other woman, rose and came to grasp her hands, squeezing them with force. "Oh, thank, thank you, Rose!!" she said earnestly "I can never repay you for this, but.."  
  
"But there is a way." she cut in "Go back to him, dear. And love him. I think you two owe it to yourselves, after going through so much."  
  
As for she...well...she thought she owed herself ANOTHER day off. This time, she hoped that no one would interrupt it!  
  
Ah the things one did for family...  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The day after...  
  
"Belsar." said Bison in a pensive voice.  
  
"Yes. That's the name I heard from the Elders." said Kale from the monitor screen, looking both excited and curious. "I'll tell you, they seemed spooked by the name, and by that I mean really afraid!"  
  
Bison nodded. "They should be. I would be too, if Belsar decided he didn't like me." He saw his younger brother's look of incredulity and gave a short laugh. "My brother, the reason you seem surprised shows that you've never seen Belsar's power fully unleashed. You saw only the tip of the iceberg."  
  
"Did you ever see it, Bison?" Kale asked politely, but intensely curious.  
  
Bison became grave, his strong, commanding features darkening as he remembered. Seen it? Yes, he had. He had been very young then, barely a Circle Acolyte, when Belsar had come upon his Lair Lord in fury. The reason for the angry bout he never recalled, but he remember feeling, for the briefest of moment, the full might of this Ancient, without any buffers. It had been a formidable sight, but also a very frightening one. Bison had known, at that very moment, that there were things in this world one never got angered at oneself, and that the Ancients were first among those things. Even now, with of his might, with all of his influence, he knew better than to challenge these strange men that were old when the world still thought the Earth was flat.  
  
"I have." was all he said, however. Kale was wise enough not to prod for more. "Did you hear anything else.  
  
"Not much. Except for that word: Kel-Drashi. That too seemed to have a certain effect on the conversation."  
  
"That's a name." Bison explained. "It means 'Citadel of the Mind', a legendary fortress, hidden from the eyes of those unworthy, supposedly the place the first Psychics and Sorcerors of power erected and taught others. It is a myth, but it is a very potent one."  
  
"You seem to know much about this brother." stated Kale wonderingly.  
  
Bison smiled again. This was the second time today he had smiled a real smile, and it did feel good. He and his brother should talk more. "I have read much about the Ancients and Kel-Drashi when I was younger, and kept up an interest through the years. So it is Belsar who told you to bring this wailing child to me? Interesting. She must be powerful, for the Ancients never move for the sake of someone they do not consider worthy of attention."  
  
"About Dessara, how powerful is she?"  
  
"Presently? She is nothing. But you were right - she has both powerful Inner AND Outer powers. For that alone I am pleased you have wisely given her to me, for, properly trained, she will become a formidable power, and raising her will ensure that Shadowlaw will have her complete loyalty. Were her parents psychics?"  
  
"No...in fact they seemed as ordinary as they could come. No powers, no strength, no nothing. Just a bunch of weaklings."  
  
And yet Belsar had taken an interest in her. Very peculiar. An idea took root within Bison, but he could not voice it, he needed proof.  
  
"Very good brother." he said "Thank you for the refreshing conversation and the useful information. I hope we can talk in the near future."  
  
"As do I. Take care, Bison." and the screen winked out.  
  
Bison took a deep breath, and as he did the darkness that shrouded his soul, which had been slightly driven back by the casual, friendly conversation, came back and enfolded him completely again. He was now the Master of Shadowlaw, powerful, feared and ready to crush anyone who would stand in his way. His face lost all of the slight pleasant edges it had had, and became the hard mask of cold that had become standard over the years. He pushed another button. Almost immediately, the image of an old man in a lab coat appeared, serious and reverential.  
  
He wasted no time for the usual pleasantries of respect and salutations. "Doctor, I should well hope that you have the results of the tests I ask you to run on my new ward." he commanded more than asked.  
  
The man bowed a little, not showing fear, only deep respect - one of the reasons Bison gave the old man a certain measure of trust. Those who only respected REALLY respected, and that was rare here in Shadowlaw, an organization built upon fear and power.  
  
"Yes, sir, we have just received the analysis. As usual, you were right, this girl has amazing potential that might well make her a very valuable ally as she reaches maturity."  
  
"Be specific, Doctor." Bison sternly interjected before the man could go on one of his usual rants. "What do you mean by 'amazing potential'."  
  
"If these tests are correct - and we have every reason to believe that they are - this child will grow into both an eight-level psychic power and a seventh-level chi manipulator."  
  
Bison did not show it, of course, but he was intensely pleased with those numbers. The tests divided power in ten categories both, with an eleventh for those who went outside the norm. He himself was an eleventh-level Psychic, while his chi manipulation was of the sixth level. This young girl would thus become extremely powerful. Not as powerful as he, of course, but very much so. And he would train her so that she would WILLINGLY look at him as her sole Lord and Master. Complete loyalty, immense powers and a free mind: she would be the perfect servant, and the perfect hand to deal with those who met with his displeasure. True, it would take many years - at least fifteen, perhaps twenty, but it mattered little. He had the time. Yes, he was pleased.  
  
However, it would not do to say that. So, still with a stern face, he answered truthfully but simply. "Good. And now I would wish you to conduct another test."  
  
There was no hesitation in the old man's answer. "Of course, my Lord. What test do you wish us to perform?"  
  
He reflected a moment. "Have your people do a complete DNA testing on the child. Scans, tissue analysis, everything."  
  
Was he right? He wasn't sure. But there had to be a reason for someone as chaotic - not to mention as POWERFUL - as an Ancient like Belsar to take such direct interest in a child that barely spoke a word or two and did not even know how to walk yet. His personal intuition pointed him in one direction. Whether it was the right one remained to be seen. And if it wasn't the right one, he would something else. Until he had the answers he wished.  
  
The old scientist, for his part, merely nodded, but still looked very curious.  
  
"We will do so at once, my Lord. However...what should we be looking for?"  
  
Bison paused. That was a very pertinent question actually. How to phrase it appropriately. He chose his words carefully. "Doctor, you know DNA structures as they should be. I mean by that how the structures of humans are today, am I not right?"  
  
"Why, of course sir." stated the doctor with dignity. "I have done extensive work in the field of genetics, as my Lord well knows."  
  
Bison nodded gravely. "Yes, I do know. So here is what you do." another pause, another consideration "Investigate the child's DNA very carefully, strand by strand and then....report to me what is not there, but should be."  
  
The old man seemed puzzled - Bison found he couldn't really blame him - but looked as determined as ever. "As you wish my Lord. It shall be done." And the conversation ended on that. Bison closed the screen, stroke his chin thoughtfully. They would soon see if he was right.  
  
If he was...  
  
The ramifications could be incredible!  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
***Author's warning: this part is a bit lemony - its not hardcore or extremely explicit, but I advise you to skip this part if you're uncomfortable with sexual material. I will not be offended if you skip this part, I just wanted to give everyone a fair warning. Now that its done, back to the show! ^_^***  
  
Two days later...  
  
Jeremy was looking at Cammy's apartment door in some confusion, uncertain of what awaited him on the other side. It wasn't his style to simply stare at a door for a while without knocking or opening it, but he found himself more than a little befuddled by the note he had gotten at work. There he'd been helping file some important documents for better retrieval if ever needed again, when he'd received a note. It was simple and to the point.  
  
Hi! I'm back! Come see me at 4pm!  
  
-Cammy-  
  
That was it. Nothing else. It had neither been alarming nor reassuring, just a fact and an invitation that nearly sounded like an order. He had stared at it, shrugged, and went back to his work as best he could. However as the hours passed, he became more and more worried about her. What had happened back in Italy? Had everything gone alright? Or was there a problem? If there had been, wouldn't she be telling him about it. Or maybe that was what she wanted to talk about. The only way to be sure was to get back to her place and see for himself. That way he'd stop worrying.  
  
Yeah, right, so why was he hesitating now that he COULD find out?   
  
Muttering angrily against her foolishness and even more against HIS, he firmly knocked on the door. He actually had wanted to do the usual three knocks, but had to actually stop before getting there, for the door opened at the second one, and he had to stop his hand from mechanically knock on her forehead. He blinked. Had she been waiting on the other side of the door or what? He blinked even more when he saw how she was dressed - light shorts, light blue t-shirt, not much else. Pretty out of character. He didn't even have time to gape, however, as he was pulled inside by her slender but strong arm. She closed the door behind him, then looked at him with an expression that made him think he was some sort of tender meat. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Nice to see you back, love. Did it go all right, with, erm, Rose?"  
  
She pointed a finger at his nose playfully. "The answer to that you'll know soon. Just go sit on the sofa while I get changed, okay?"  
  
"Well...sure." he said, feeling he was in the middle of a situation he knew nothing about and had no control of. He walked to her small living room and sat down on the sofa, looking at her with a quizzical expression as she went about in the bathroom and close the door, giving him a smile. He looked at the door for moment, then looked around. He was completely lost, clueless, and gladly admitted it.  
  
After a few minutes of waiting, he was starting to philosophize with himself. "This may well be the situation that makes men lose their hair prematurely." he muttered to himself sardonically. As he said that, the bathroom door opened. Sighing in no small amount of relief, he looked. And went as stiff with shock as a rock is hard.  
  
Cammy had 'gotten changed', true, but that change had more with 'removing' then 'adding'. She was now dressed only in a white bra and panties, the rest of her body completely naked. What's more, she had undone her braided hair and let it go loose, cascading down her shoulders and back, something that he had rarely seen her do, even to go to sleep. With her fine curves and athletic disposition, the sight was something that would have enchanted just about any man.  
  
Jeremy was amongst those. His blood pressure had certainly climbed dangerously high as she approached him, seemingly quite pleased with her effect on him. He was still gaping when she sat down next to him, smiling softly, but with a shy edge.  
  
"So...how do you like it?" she asked.  
  
He wasn't really in the state to answer that in so many words, so he simply stated the clearest thought he had. "Cammy...you're...you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." It sounded flip, it sounded cliché, but it was exactly what he meant. She recognized that, too, as she blushed slightly under his gaze.  
  
"Jeremy...do you want me?" she asked.  
  
"My blood pressure is reaching critical and you ask me that?" he breathed. "Cammy, the answer, I think, has been yes for quite a while."  
  
She approached him, all gentle curves and rose flesh, and came near to him. "Then show me."  
  
They kissed then, long and passionately, their feelings and gestures showing what words could not. Finally they broke it up, and she spoke again.  
  
"Let's go to my bedroom." she said. "We'll be more...comfortable...to...to really do it."  
  
He got his answer from that. It had worked! Rose had done it! He promised himself to buy a whole shop of the same plants and give them to the psychics, and that would only be the tip of the iceberg of the joy and gratitude he felt. With a joyful sigh, he swept Cammy into his arms, walking toward the room, she cuddling against him gratefully. Rarely had he felt so good, so alive, so in love. Never, probably, since that time in Italy, when they'd told each other everything. He entered the bedroom.  
  
Although she definitely shivered again when he hugged her in his arms and, with amorous tenderness, set her on her bed, she didn't seem to have the slightest of intention of crying out a denial or hitting him in the face. In fact, she gave a little sigh as he did. He removed his pants and t-shirt quickly, his pulse quick, his tension high, and moved next to her to lay down. She languorously moved over him, straddling and undid her white bra, revealing round,soft breasts. She then lay down on top of him.  
  
He was scared now - this was the first time he'd ever shared this level of intimacy with anyone, even Melissa had never come close to it - but also full of desire. He put his arms around her and pressed her to him, feeling her warm body shiver against his again, as she pulled herself to him and pressed her slightly opened mouth against his. Their tongues clashed for long moments, as his hands rubbed her shoulders, her ribs, her hips, and while her own explored his chest, raking at some points. At last their passionate kiss broke, and he started to use his mouth and tongue lower, straying from the neck to the shoulder, and then started to go lower. She gave short breaths, in heat, almost lost in it, but managed to stop him by putting both trembling, sweaty hands on his head. He was himself almost lost in it, and wondered what could be wrong. Couldn't be the psychic fear acting up, or he would have died already.  
  
"What...what is it?" he forced himself to ask. It was incredibly hard putting clear thoughts together at this point for him. Obviously she shared the same problem, for she only panted a little, then extended one hand to her bedside table, opening the drawer and rummaging into it for a moment. He was about to ask again when she came up with a square piece of plastic. He stared at it for a few seconds, uncomprehending.  
  
Then he read what was on it. And gave off a soft, jolly laugh.  
  
"Yes...its not...a bad idea." he breathed.  
  
She gave him a smile, a very loving one "I want you, Jer. Oh, I want you...right now. But...I don't think...we'd want children...yet...eh?"  
  
"You're right, we wouldn't." he chuckled, swiping the plastic square away. She moved off from him, and he took off his boxers, wondering how that thing between his legs had gotten so big and stiff, and he fought against the container, getting a lusty giggle from Cammy, but finally opened it, and slipped the thing on. He then turned back to her.  
  
She was comfortably laid back, hands behind her head, her face red and aglow with both love and lust - right now the two were much the same thing. She had taken her panties off, and, positioned as she was, revealed to him all the startling, athletic beauty of her womanhood. On the body were a few scars, vestiges of the treatments and abuse she had suffered, but he never really noticed them. They weren't his work. She'd never suffer such terrible injuries, would never be hurt such when he made love to her. From her expression, she seemed to understand that quite well. She gave him another smile.  
  
"Come, Jer." she said seductively. "Come take me. Come love me. Or I'll be the one who'll come."  
  
He gave her a shy smile, and then came toward her and moved on top of the woman he loved. And they made love. A clumsy, uncertain love, but they put their heart into it, their joy and their desires. It was their love. A complete fusing of there selves.  
  
And never in the entire night did Cammy ever seemed to show anything but love, lust and bliss.  
  
The nightmare of fear was over.   
  
_____________________________________________________  
  
Well, here it is! Finally Cammy and Jeremy get the bliss they deserve! I'm gonna slow down for a while now. Hope you liked this chapter, even the lemony part. Sorry about that one, I'm not very good at lemons! ^_^ You can expect the next chapter soon enough, still!  
  
See ya in chapter 23!  
  
Jeremy 


	27. Chapter 23

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 23  
  
March 3, 1998  
  
Laureen felt the hand cuffs close on her wrists, and she couldn't help but a little shiver of dread at the noise. She would never feel completely herself anymore, not even should she finally escape from the maniac who was grumbling about something undefinable as he tied her up for the umpteenth time. He was heading out of here on another 'job', it seemed. And as usual, he was making sure she wouldn't budge from her bedroom. Her bedroom. She was so starting to hate this place, it was becoming dangerous to her health just being in this room.  
  
"I shouldn't be gone for more than a few hours." he was mumbling. These last days, he was becoming less and less easy to understand either in his gestures or in his speech. Because of that she was scared almost to death when he said anything to her. She went stiff as he spoke, wary of him, fully knowing there was nothing she could do if he decided to do anything to her. "So just stay here and be quiet."  
  
Like I got any kind of choice? she wanted to say, but knew that saying such a crack would only get her beaten. He was becoming more frequent in his abuse now, although it still wasn't harsh. And he wasn't beating her now, and she had no wish to bring the storm any closer. It was just when he took out a roll of tape and took of a piece that she decided to speak. She chose a scared, pleading voice, the kind of voice he SOMETIME still listened to.  
  
"Please, don't." she pleaded softly "Don't gag me. I hate it, I hate it so much."  
  
He seemed to hesitate ever so slightly, probably surprised that she'd beg about what he considered something so trivial. Still, he had hesitated, and that was a very good sign considering what she knew of the man.  
  
"Why are you so adamant about this? Its not like it'll bite. And I'll be back in a few hours, like I said just now." he sounded like he was trying to reason a little child about being more polite to old people.   
  
Yeah, he'd be back. And in such a fine move that he'd abuse her once more, than tell him another story of another murder that would haunt her for years to come, if he decided to let her live years, which was very doubtful with him. No. No, not anymore. She didn't want him to come back, if it was to do that, but she couldn't say it, couldn't get angry or hysterical, or he'd gag her for sure. Instead, she kept her face low, lips trembling, not daring to look at him, hiding her hatred and her anger behind a show of fear that was, she admitted it freely, very real to her. She felt his hand beneath her chin, and let him lift her face so that she'd meet him squarely in the eyes.  
  
He looked at her for a long time, his eyes giving away nothing of the probably dark thoughts that slithered through his sick mind, and when he spoke, it was with a voice that was both soft and dangerous.  
  
"If that's what you want, bitch, than why not?" he hissed with a grimace that she supposed was a smile to him. "You've been a nice, polite little thing these days, so I'll let you have this little boon today." his hand tightened painfully. But if you start doing a ruckus while I'm gone, I'm gonna be very unhappy, understand?"  
  
She gave a quick, fearful nod, and he seemed satisfied with her answer, for he let her go and stood up and, without good byes or anything else, left the room. A minute later she heard the apartment door close, and waited a few minutes, tied uncomfortably, to make sure he had gone. When she had made sure of it, she started to make her move.  
  
First she spat. Out came a rusty long nail that she'd found in the bathroom earlier that day, when he'd permitted her to go and turned his back for a moment. She had put it in her mouth then, and had kept it, unheeding the fact that it could very well sicken her - survival was far more important to her at this point than sanitation - and had come up with a desperate plan that was made up of the nail, an old skill of hers, and luck. She had put up this pleading gig not to be gag not because she hated it - although she did, so she really HADN'T lied about that - so that he she could use the nail.   
  
She took the nail, in her hand, and started to fiddle with her cuffs rapidly. There was one good thing she had learned that could apply to the situation: lockpicking. She had played with locks as a kid, understood them and fiddled with them, wondering how they worked, asking question. Many years the hobby held out, until, when she lost interest at about fourteen, she knew how to unlock many kind of small locking mechanisms - including that which was in all types of hand cuffs. She could have done it sleeping by the end - or with her arms tied behind her back, which was the case right now.  
  
She fiddled and tinkered, afraid she'd mess up, lose the nail, or break it. She did none of these things. After a while, she heard a sound that, for long moment, submerged her with joy.  
  
CLICK!  
  
She'd managed to open the cuffs. She put her hands in front of her, clenching them. Free! They were free! She couldn't seem to stop staring at them, feeling giddy and somehow invincible. This had been her biggest obstacle, getting her arms free. Then Laureen abruptly remembered where she was, the situation she was still in, and worked on the one imprisoning her foot, keeping it stuck to the bed like she was an animal. She had the use her eye sight now. It didn't take long that she had freed it as well.  
  
She jumped down the bed giddy for a moment, knowing that she was alone and that she was well on her way to escaping this hellhole. She searched about, found boots and a coat, and put them on. They didn't fit, but who cared? She was getting out of here. Where? Wherever she could get to, which was better than here anyway.  
  
She was just about to do move to the door when she seemed to hear a noise from the other side of the door. Immediately she froze, her giddiness forgotten, her face shocked and utterly terrified. It couldn't be him. Please, God, it couldn't be! If it was him, and he saw her like that, he would...he would probably do like the first time she'd tried to escape, maybe worse! She wouldn't survive it, not again, not again! She was stuck into place. But the noise passed. It wasn't a person coming. Just a noise on the other side.  
  
She breathed a sigh of relief that was actually half-laugh, half-sob. She was serious now, the joy gone. She was still very much in danger, and fully realized it. In fact, it reminded her of a story her father had told her.  
  
When he'd been her age, her father and grandfather had hunted in the forest, and their dogs had finally cornered a hare in his hole. Her father had explained that they'd pulled the dogs back to make the hare believe it was safe to come out, and had shot it as soon as it had made its appearance.  
  
She felt like the hare right now. But like the hare, she felt she had to go out and see, at the risk of being discovered and, if not killed, then terribly brutalized.   
  
Besides, she carried, in her womb, what she knew to be a new life. An innocent one that the damn monster wanted to raise for himself, so that he would have a living legacy, to keep on with his madness. She couldn't allow it. Especially since she distinctively remembered that it had been she who had given the man the very idea of fathering a child. Because she had been drunk. Something else she would never be again. She now loathed the very thought of a bottle. And it served her right, she felt.  
  
No, she had to protect two lives now, and that was exactly what she would do - by escaping right this minute!  
  
She opened the door, looked right and left, fearfully. Any second she felt she would be discovered by him, by this bastard who had kept her here for so long. The hallway seemed rundown, and she could tell just by the feel of things that she was in the bad part of town, a part she'd never visited and never wished to. As quietly as she could, she slipped outside, and went looking for a way up.  
  
She found it quickly, a stairway that actually led to the outside. She climbed it as calmly as she could, but her heart was beating hard against her chest. Anytime now she expected his hand to grab her, or to hear his voice crying out, angry and demented. She always had the impression of hearing his steps behind her, and resisted the urge to look back time and time again. The fear almost stopped her ascension.  
  
Yet she continued, and was out a grey, old apartment building in no time, with no one stopping her. Not waiting to press her luck, she went to the street and started to run through it, like mad, not caring what a spectacle she was making of herself, the only thing that imported to her was to put as much distance between herself and the building, lessening the chance he'd see her if he came back. It was only five minutes later that, breathless, she stopped, and looked around her. No one in pursuit.  
  
She was safe. He wasn't there. It took her a few moments to realize it but when she did, she almost whooped for joy, stopping only because it would make her look even more foolish than she must seem right now. But it didn't stop her from smiling brightly, despite the cold and the people looking at her with weird expressions.  
  
She had done it.  
  
She was free.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Around the same time...  
  
Sparks flew off, the system broke down. It wasn't the first time that what he had tried to do went down the drain, and it probably wouldn't be the last. But for some reason, this was too much for Nathan McIntyre, and he gave out a cry of pure anger and frustration. He hit the console hard, bruising his hand and not caring one little bit about it. Worse, his constant headache started to worsen as soon as he did.  
  
This day wasn't starting well.  
  
He heard footsteps, then saw Area enter the room, looking at him worriedly but also warily. It irked him to see her there suddenly, always so sad and so compassionate. Since when did he ask her to be there, huh? Why couldn't even vent his damn anger the damn way he saw fit without bumping into her ten seconds later. He was seeing completely red, and it wasn't natural. But being natural or not, that was how he felt.  
  
"Are you allright, Nate? Oh God, look at your hand. Here..." she said, taking his bruised hand in hers looking it over. He snatched it off, angrily, possessively.  
  
"Leave me alone. I don't need you here." he said nastily, although something in his mind told him, no SCREAMED him NOT to say such a thing. But her was beyond caring right now. He just wanted her out.  
  
She looked angry but sad, hesitant about something. Still she was not going. Still she seemed like wanting to try to actually help him. Couldn't the woman get a darn clue?!?   
  
"But Nate...." she began, but he cut her off.  
  
"Didn't you hear me, dammit. I am up to HERE with your damn pity." he shouted "Just leave me in peace! Don't bother me anymore!!"  
  
It was completely unnecessary and completely irrational. But it hit the spot. Hit it hard and true. She blanched for a moment, her expression sad and broken. That was for the first moment. Then she scowled, her face started to litterally burn with hurt and anger, and she turned on her heels and stalked out of Nathan's workroom, slamming the door behind her.  
  
Her ranted a little more against her and everything around him, then finally sat on the chair near his workshop and computers. As he sat there, the anger melted away, as if it hadn't truly been his to begin with. Lucidity returned fast, and confusion as well. He had gotten angry again. But why had he?  
  
Ever since the 'incident' with Tom, Nathan had been a bitter man, broken by the world and largely hating the world deep down inside. He was looked down by many, and to him, it seemed by everyone. Consequently he had started to state his bitterness openly, recovering just to spite everyone. He had been on the road to becoming a man with no friends, bitter, alone, with no one he wished to talk to.  
  
But Area, dear Area, she had changed that.  
  
After meeting her, he wanted to become better, and had tried to stem the bitterness, to feel more like the young man he used to be - an intelligent man, with hope, dreams and compassion. As their relationship grew - and it had, only Alex and Claudia had beaten him at that - this desire had grown, and it had seemed that he was less bitter, more accessible to people. He'd regained the firm friendship he'd had with Claudia and Alex, and even mended most of the pots with Jeremy.  
  
And then, these incomprehensible bouts of anger had taken hold. They had come around the same time as his headaches, but it had changed little to his mood, until recently. For the last two weeks, however, he'd been nearly impossible to live with, snapping at people, overcome by thoughts that he somehow felt were not his own. He had become exactly what he had been afraid of becoming. And now he...  
  
A door slammed. Front door of his house. At the sound, his musings cut off. What was he DOING? What was he thinking? This was Area, he was sure of it. And it sounded like she was damn angry at him.  
  
'And why shouldn't she be, you idiot?' a voice said in his head. "After what you told her now, after two weeks of supporting you like this, you're SURPRISED she's LEAVING? What a fool you are, McIntyre. Genius, my ass! Well? DON'T JUST STAND THERE, YOU MORON, RUN AFTER HER, STOP THINKING ABOUT YOURSELF FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!  
  
Nathan took this as the best advice he had had in two weeks. And ran.  
  
He forgot to put a coat on, forgot to take his cane with him. He ran down the stairs, ran to the door and flung himself outside. It was freezing, his legs hurt him worse than Hell, being put through a strain it was unable to hold anymore. Pain hammered at him, from the headache, the frost of early March and the leg that would be forever shattered. He pushed it all away, spotting a the figure of Area ahead of him. He ran towards her, crying his heart out, bellowing her name, pleading with her to come back. He knew he had hurt her - and why had he, damn it, WHY? - but he wanted to apologize, to pray, to grovel, anything that would bring her back.   
  
He forgot his bitterness, then. Damn it to Hell! He forgot his senseless anger, then. Damn it to Hell! He cried out to her one last time, and there must have been enough despair, enough apology or pain, to make her turn toward him. He started to call her again...  
  
And then the pain collapse on him all at once, and he blacked out. The last thing he remembered was the icy pavement rushing to meet him at incredible speed. Still he managed to whisper her name one last time. Then nothing.  
  
When he came to, he found himself installed on the sofa, a blanket on him. He looked around in confusion at the surroundings, not really sure how he got there. What had happened? Then his head cleared out of fog, and he remembered. What he had said. What he'd done, and whom he had wanted back.  
  
"I'm still not sure I shouldn't have let you freeze back there. You have thirty seconds to convince me I didn't make a mistake." came a cold voice, that carried an edge of worry despite itself. He looked in that direction, and saw Area sitting right next to him. She did not look particularly happy to be there, either. He found he couldn't blame her.  
  
"Area, I'm so glad you're still here." he said earnestly. He was met with a stony expression.  
  
"I'm not sure I am. Twenty-five seconds."   
  
O-kay, so that was the way the game was played. Very well, he knew he more than deserved it. He tried to make up something that would be convincing.  
  
"I know its not enough to make up with all I said to you, but please believe how very, very sorry, I am." he said.  
  
She nodded. "Sure. Twenty seconds."  
  
He closed his eyes. He knew he couldn't convince her in twenty seconds. She was going to leave, and he might never see her again. It hurt, that thought, it hurt more than any wound, and he had to fight back the wave of self-pity that came at him. He had lived in self-pity for four years, and what had it ever given him? He was sick of self-pity.  
  
"Okay. I can't convince you." he said, his voice cracking just a little "Just tell me if you know a guy, amongst those weird World Warriors you know, who can get this anger out of my head. Its not me. It came with a headache, and the headache came with a weird guy I saved a while back. I don't want the anger anymore. I don't want the bitterness. I just want to be with you."  
  
Silence. It stretched on for a while, giving him the certain feeling that he had lost. And why should he not? He had hurt her enough. She'd reached her limits, no longer wanted anything to do with him. She was going to leave. And there was nothing he could say against it, every argument said that she should leave. Who could care about HIM? He wasn't worth caring about. And this time he felt it wasn't self-pity. It was a cold fact.  
  
And then he felt an hand on his forehead, hesitantly caressing. He opened his eyes to see Area looking down at him with eyes that were still angry, but now held what remained of her affection for him. She spoke with tranquility, clearly.  
  
"There is a World Warrior." she said "A good man, who lives in India." she paused "His name his Dhalsim."  
  
He nodded gratefully. "I'll go to India first thing tomorrow. I'll meet with this Dhalsim. And then, Area, and then, I'll work hard to regain the trust you gave me, and the love you gave me."  
  
"Is that a promise?"  
  
"You can bet that it is."  
  
And it was a promise he intended to keep.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
One hour later...  
  
Laureen was making her way through the rundown part of town she was in. The joy she had been feeling had been short-lived, and had been replaced by a sinking feeling of dread. The people here were rough, poor, and decidedly dangerous. They were part of the slums, they were people who had suffered a significant part of their lives. Consequently, the slums that existed in London - although the English authorities would rather curl up and die than admit it - were largely given a wide berth, rarely patrolled except when they infringed upon 'better' parts of the city, and out of most laws that held in Britain, except for one important law: the law of the fittest, the strongest.  
  
This was the part Laureen found herself in.  
  
She wasn't in any position to defend herself, that was plain. She was already bruised, beaten, her strength spent from weeks of abuse and fear and anger. Laureen knew that she must be a perfect target to those who wished to either have a good time with their fists - or with something else. She knew the possibility too well, and could appreciate why Thomas lived in such an area: it was chaotic and brutal, almost as bad as he was.  
  
Almost.  
  
She knew she had to get out of this area if she was to survive to see another day, for spending the night here was...too dangerous to even consider. The place was full of crazies, and some might be allied with...with him. After all, she had gotten the picture that Thomas was stronger than the average. That meant he must be enjoying a certain degree of respect here, where strength was what counted. This was a definitely frightening thought, but one that was very real. Never would she trust in things to arrange themselves. Not anymore, not totally.  
  
But she might need some help to get out of here. But who could she trust. She knew that the bums and the homeless here were poor, suffering people, but knew that some had a good heart beyond the edges. But some were bad. And she really could not differentiate between the two. How to chose? How could she? Most people here were males, and she was still too distrusting of males to really consider. Oh, how jumbled were her thoughts, how despairing the situation. What could she do? What could she do?  
  
Nothing but try her best, and let Fate help or damn her. It had gone against her before, perhaps it would help her now.  
  
She remembered someone saying: as long as there's life, there's hope. She wasn't sure she agreed with the concept anymore - so many of her preset ideas - so naive, she saw them now as this - had been erased or changed. She had no idea how she was ever going to ever feel normal again.  
  
None at all.  
  
It was at this point of her musing that she felt herself be taken from behind by strong hands.  
  
For a moment, she was certain that it was HIM, and the fear she felt, the utter black terror, all-consuming, tearing at her soul, was nothing compared to the void she felt. Void that was quickly replaced by burning anger. NO! She had escaped. She wouldn't go BACK, not to HIM, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER! She kicked and screamed, and when an hand tried to stifle them, she bit it with all of her strength.. She heard a cry of pain and surprise, a voice that was most definitely NOT Thomas's - she knew it too well, would never forget that voice - before finding herself flung hard against a wall, her breath coming out with a wuff.  
  
She blinked back tears of pain at that, and finally found out who the person who had been holding was. He was there in front of her, with two others. She was relieved to see that none of them was Thomas.  
  
Then saw the looks on their faces, and found they weren't much better.  
  
The man who had been holding her was now holding his hand, which was bleeding. He was looking at her with murder in his eyes, while the other two laughed roughly. They were dirty, with rough airs of bums and the eyes of people who had seen the bottom and didn't care about much but getting what they could anymore.  
  
"She bit me, the bloody damn bitch!" ranted the first man "I'm goin' to teach her not to mess with me, just gimme a second!"  
  
"Aww, your hand will heal." said another, smirking "Just live with it. This nice little morsel's bruised enough as it is." chuckling, he approached Laureen. He was well a head taller than she, and nearly twice as broad. He put his hand under her chin, used the pressure to turn her head, examining it. She barely resisted her disgust at him, at them all. Something within her, at the situation, started to strain.  
  
The second man seemed satisfied with her. "Yeah, she's not bad. You guys were right, she is a fine little morsel!" he leaned to her "I'm sorry if this all seems scary gal. We're just gonna have some fun with ya. and when its done, well, we might let you go." The three men started to chuckle slightly. But they were cut of in a manner in which they weren't accustomed at all.  
  
Laureen started to laugh at THEM.  
  
At the words the man had told her, the whole weeks that she had suffered came crashing down on her full force, obliterating any fear, any thought of hesitation and pushed her beyond caring what happened to her. She had no fear of these men, only disgust.   
  
"Hehehehe...you....you think I'm AFRAID of punks like YOU? You think I care about getting myself raped?!? After all I've been through, you THINK I AM?!? You poor, useless band of TWITS!" And with that, she swung her hand, slashing with her nails. The man in front of her cried out, clutching the bleeding trails she'd left.   
  
"You damn bitch!!!" he growled, incensed and enraged. He pulled back his arm, and she defiantly waited for his fist to strike her, looking at him with an almost arrogant air, challenging him openly. She knew it would hurt her very much, but she didn't care. Never would she let herself be scared by any man, not after that ordeal...  
  
However, the blow never came.  
  
Before the man could strike, an hand lashed out and caught him by the wrist. The grip must have been frighteningly strong, for the man who was about to hit her groaned and, try as he might to squirm out of the vice-like grasp, he was unable to move a muscle.   
  
"Now, that won't do at all." said the man, and she looked at him for the first time. A tall man, in a winter coat of slightly strange design, with leather gloves. He had a strong, handsome face that showed that the situation did not cause him any fear. His eyes were a grayish blue, and his hair was a very light brown, rather short, but not overly so. "This woman has suffered enough. Leave her be."  
  
The thug cried out and swung at the newcomer. But the only thing that this did was to get his other hand caught in a relaxed but powerful grip as well. He turned to the side, toward were the other two men were.  
  
"What are you waiting for!!!" he bellowed. "Come on and attack...this..." he stopped, stared. Looking over, Laureen gasped. The two men were there all right. Knocked out cold. "What the...urk." The thug was silenced by a immensely powerful shot from the stranger's knee. The thug coughed, and then his eyes rolled back, and he slumped backward, also out. The newcomer turned to her, his face breaking with a gentle smile. He held a hand out to her.  
  
"Come. I will guide back to the nearest police station." his voice was soft and compassionate, a distinct contrast to the great strength he'd just showed...  
  
Still she hesitated, for men had become a very dangerous figure in her mind,and she wasn't yet sure of any of them, including this man, who appeared kind, didn't possess that darkness she'd gotten used to. The man seemed to recognize that.  
  
"There is no need to fear me. Come. I swear that nothing bad will happen to you while you are with me."  
  
She gritted her teeth, but knew that she'd need to trust someone, and that, anyway, there wasn't much she could do if the man forced the issue. She took his hand and he pulled her off the wall. She looked at him warily.  
  
"Who are you?" she asked "Why do you wish to help me?"  
  
The man smiled. "I'd be in a lot of trouble if I told you my name." he said cryptically "As for the second question, I just did what people should do all the time. Now come. I know the way out of this slum. Follow me."  
  
And she did, feeling confused and still wary, but feeling she was remotely safe for the first time in weeks.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Three hours later...  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. STRIKE!  
  
Recover.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. STRIKE!  
  
Ibuki swung her katana with the assurance of one who had mastered the art of swordfighting. Her posture was perfect - feet well-spaced, wide apart but not to much, posture giving away skill but not the full extent of it, the hands not relaxed but not too tight, either - and her overall look was serene. She seemed perfectly in control. No one would have believed that, in her mind, she was stiff and weary, for she had just made a grave decision:  
  
She intended to defeat the Shadow Walker, Everick. And she knew that here was an opponent that would never be defeated easily.   
  
But the insult to her pride and to the honor of her clan was too great. She remembered the cool pity in hi stone as he held her down, at his mercy, and that she had felt fiercely angry at it. The man looked upon the Shinobi as nothing more than an irritant, not a powerful force of the shadows. Still, she had considered her position and her chances before committing herself, going as far as to ask her grandfather's opinion on the matter. Geki's answer had been that he agreed with her need to redeem her clan's honor, but had also suggested a large amount of caution.  
  
"For as you well know by now," he had said. "Although we use the shadows, Everick, to an extent, IS the shadows. Stealth will not nearly be as much as an edge to you as it would be with other opponents."  
  
She had had no need to remember Everick's frightening Shadow Mastery. She had seen it herself, and had been able to test it. Still,.it did not mean that she should give up.  
  
"Grandfather, I am sure that this Shadow Walker possesses some kind of weakness that I may be able to use."  
  
Geki had nodded. "Everyone has a weakness, Ibuki. The problematic in this is whether you can use that weakness and, if you can, if it will be in time." he had paused "If you do not, you might be forfeiting your life, no matter how cautious you are." There had been a flash of pain in those eyes, as he surely remembered her grandmother, who had died, he always sadly told, because the strength of her opponent had been too overwhelming to her. But to do nothing was to admit defeat, and she would never do such a thing. Anyway...  
  
"I doubt he would kill me." she mused, "He could have slain me the other day, and yet did not. There is something honorable about him."  
  
"Perhaps, but next time he might have no choice but to kill you, and be that much more lethal for it. Would your plan be killing or defeat?"  
  
"Defeat." she had stated definitely, her mind made up on the subject long ago. "He deliberately chose to let me live, and killing him would then demean me even more than his pity and decision. I will not fight to kill, but only to redeem.  
  
The old ninja had been silent at that, looking at her with piercing, wise eyes that had seen much. Finally he had nodded slowly, his eyes softening a little.  
  
"Very well, Ibuki." he had said "Your goal is honorable, your reasons just. I see no other choice but to give you leave. Be careful, however, to make precise plans, for you now are about to hunt down a man who knows how to hunt in the shadows and in the underground just as well as the best of us."  
  
"I understand, sir. And I will be careful, I promise you."  
  
"Then I have no fear that you shall return successful. Now go."  
  
The conversation had ended at that, but it had by no means meant the end for Ibuki herself. As soon as she had been out of her grandfather's sight, she had been nearly overwhelmed by doubts. She knew that Everick was powerful, had heard the rumors about him long ago, often spoken in fearful tones, as if the shadows themselves were listening. She knew now, after fighting him, that the fear had not been misplaced, either about the person or about the shadows listening in.  
  
She returned to the confrontation itself. The man was definitely highly-trained, imaginative and fierce. She had seen techniques that reminded her of Savate, Karate and Ninjitsu, as well as other movements that seemed to be a template forged out of these three martial arts and linked to his strength and agility. As far as pure physical prowess could be determined, he was definitely stronger than she was, but slower and possessing a level of dexterity inferior to her own, although it was indeed quite high. She knew, however, that if she could attack him during a moment of weakness, in a place with few shadows, using surprise, tricks and a lot of luck, she COULD defeat him. It was long-shot, she knew it. So long that it almost lost itself in the distance.  
  
But it was still a shot. Still a chance.  
  
Breathe in. Breathe out. Strike.  
  
Her arm shook as the blade went too low, denting the wooden floor with a dull thunk sound. She cursed herself softly as she realized that she had lost all pretense of concentration during her musings. Only her strict personal discipline prevented her from extrapolating on the self-cursing, but for a few moments she felt in a foul mood indeed. Then she felt a presence coming up behind her, recognized it and purposefully relaxed, letting her irritated thoughts flitter out of her mind.  
  
Soft, nearly inaudible steps. She sighed. "You really must work on your stealth, Hiro. Any trained individual would have felt you coming a mile off, just as I did now."  
  
The steps stopped at that, then there was a confused and nervous cough. "Gomen ne, Ibuki-sempai, but I wished not to be stealthy, but only to talk to you." He seemed a little ill-at-ease. The fact that she was Geki's granddaughter had always given the other students and trainees high reservations as to how to interact with her. It had grown only worse as she excelled in her training and moved toward completion faster than anyone of her age had ever done. That was why she prefered her social life outside of the compound, where she interacted with people who did not know her for anything more than Ibuki, a japanese girl. Hiro's reaction was nothing new.  
  
"I know, Hiro." she said, keeping her voice strong, although she always regretted speaking to other like her - other students - in such a tone. "But you should always be as silent as possible, naturally. What did you want to talk about?"  
  
"You're going after the Shadow Walker, aren't you?"  
  
The blunt question - and the fact that the guest had been so very shrewd, caused her to turn around and stare at the younger student and she had to fight in order to keep a cool facade through it all. She stared hard at him.  
  
"How would you know what I'm going to do?" she asked softly, cautiously. The trainee did not back down from her gaze. In fact, he seemed more than a little irritated by her tone, by her slightly war air.  
  
"It's not like I wasn't there, " he hissed fiercely, surprising her, for he'd ever been a calm, introverted individual. "That guy nearly killed me, WOULD have killed me, if you hadn't been there."  
  
She wasn't so sure of that, for Everick had seemed to attack to incapacitate, not to kill. They'd even been able to reanimate the man who'd been attacked outside. He hadn't really come here to kill.  
  
"So I'm here to tell you good luck, and that I wish I'd be going with you." he gave small smile. "However, that would hinder more than help, cuz I don't have your skills. And mostly,be careful."  
  
"I'm always careful." she said, although his last words had confused her slightly. He seemed so adamant about this. The boy, in answer, only nodded, bowed and walked away. She was left a little stunned.  
  
But also with a greater desire to win. After all, she was going to defend not only her honor, but Hiro's too, for he had been shamed as well. And for her fellow, even more than for the clan as a whole, she would be certain to win. For she would win. She would defeat the feared and powerful Shadow Walker.  
  
No matter how hard it was. What it took.  
  
She would defeat him. This was a vowed. And she had NEVER failed something she had vowed before.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
That evening...  
  
Morton was both relieved and nervous. They had found Thomas Storm where Thomas Storm lived, at last! But had they found Storm himself? That was some thing he wasn't sure about. But he was going to find out by visiting that home and, if it was true that this bastard lived there, he would arrest him - and none too gently at that. Beside him, his partner, Donald, groaned as he had since the beginning.  
  
"You don't really believe we'll find him, do you?" he asked.  
  
"Right now, Don, I don't know exactly what I should believe. But I know that we have to check that apartment. Its the first clue we've had since the beginning of this bloody affair, and it might hide some others. We can't pass it up."  
  
"Maybe, but don't forget what that girl has told us."  
  
That girl - Laureen - had told them many things about her captor, many of which were frightening, some disgusting. His treatment of her had not been only cruel, but twisted in a way that Morton did not entirely comprehend. A problem that. A big one. It was always those who are hard to understand who were the most unpredictable. And from what Laureen had said, he was getting more and more insane, losing touch with what little sanity remained in him - which hadn't been much to begin with.  
  
"I remember," he finally said, "But sometimes psychopaths get disorganized and wait in their lair a little while. We have to take that risk."  
  
"If you say so," said Donald reluctantly. "But let's just say I don't like it much."  
  
"And neither do I, Don. Neither do I."  
  
They drove following the girl's indications, which had identified the number of the building and the streets around it. It had made their job easier, but it was still a bit of an hassle for them. This wasn't a spot any policeman favored, for it was rife with gangs, thugs, junkies and troublemakers of all sorts - the true dark side of proud, ancient London. It saddened him that his city still had such places, but knew there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
"What an horrible place to live one's life." whispered Donald. Henry Morton agreed with him there, too.  
  
Problem was, some good people did live in these places - people who were jobless, who were poor and desperate. People that the society tried very hard to just forget. After all, did these people pay taxes. Did they work in a place, were they useful. No. And because of that the lucky people around them spurned them. They were only the poor, the downtrodden.  
  
But also human beings. When exactly had society forgotten that fact?  
  
They finally spotted the building, an old, four-storied grey apartment building that had definitely seen better days. There were no lights, except from the small windows in the basement. Morton heart skipped a beat. Maybe it had been an omission, or maybe the guy had just left. Or maybe he was still there. And then it would all end tonight.. He stopped the car and got out. He turned to his partner, who was also standing up.  
  
"Grab your gun. Might be trouble, that one." In fact, if rumors and facts matched, he might be a lot of trouble.   
  
"Shouldn't we call for reinforcements?" asked Donald worriedly. The older man considered that for a few moments, then shook his head.  
  
"Lets have a look first." And with that, he took the stairs the girl had indicated. With a sigh, Donald followed.  
  
They made their way through a hall that smell of mold somewhat, but still seemed remarkably well-preserved. In fact, there seemed to have been certain restorations made to the place. Most probably Storm, trying to make his home snugger. It showed also that the man had grown attached to the place, and that increased the fact that he might still be there, if only for a brief time.  
  
They finally made their way to the door they wanted, and his partner put himself to the other side. Morton nodded at him, and then, using his leg in one taut kick, he opened the door with a bang.  
  
"Police! Freeze!" He bellowed to what seemed to be an empty living room. Rather well-decorated, but still lacking the normal warmth of home. There were doors to the sides, but they were lit and empty as well. He cursed, they had missed him. The game of cat and mouse was doomed to continue for a while still, it seemed.  
  
Then, making them both jump, voice rang out, happy, carefree, and with an edge that placed definite doubts upon its sanity.   
  
"Well, hello! Finally the brave policemen show up! It was about time, I was expecting you!"  
  
Morton and Donald exchanged glances, then cautiously made their way to the room where the voice had sounded from. The door was opened up a bit. Morton hesitated to open it, not knowing what could be lurking on the other side of it. To his distress and frustration, the voice on the other side seemed to read his thoughts.  
  
"Come on, mister Morton! Open the door, I won't bite you!"  
  
Angry at his hesitation, fearful of the fact the man knew his name, the inspector flung open the door, an both entered with the revolvers pointed in front of them. It was a small room, plain with nothing more than a table, a chair, and a computer linked to a camera. The computer screen was on.  
  
On it stood Thomas Storm, grinning.  
  
"Hello again. Can you believe I managed to get all this nifty stock. That's what you get when a shady electronics dealer owes you one. But it does allow a very special face-to-face, no?" he is tone was light, it all seemed like a big joke. "So you followed Laureen's tidbits, didn't you?"  
  
Morton nodded gravely. "She was very cooperative to tell everything she knew from the moment she was abducted up to the moment she escaped."  
  
Storm guffawed at this. "Escape! As if I didn't see, didn't know, didn't just LET HER ESCAPE! Hehehehehe! Ah, this is grand. What a bunch of idiots you are. Should have brought Jer. He knows me better. He'd know what I mean. You're losers."  
  
Morton had heard such sentences too often as a policeman and inspector to very much fazed about it all. Insults from psychos meant little to him. "It seems we'll have to play a bit of cat and mouse with you, won't we mister Storm?"  
  
"Oh no. Oh no. I can assure you, I don't think so. In fact, I can assure you of something. The reckoning I want is with Jer, not with you. You, sirs, are nothing to me. Dust in the wind."  
  
"What does he mean?" asked Donald, worried. Morton only shook his head, a cold feeling settling upon him. He had underestimated this asshole, he knew it. Badly. Maybe he SHOULD have called Storm, instead of coming here flying. It seemed his intuition had failed him.  
  
"You see, gentlemen," continued the image jovially "There was one other who owed me a favor. A master of explosives!" he started to laugh "And in FIVE SECONDS, YOU'LL SEE THE GREATEST AND LAST FIREWORKS OF YOU LIVES!" And he started to laugh again. Behind Morton, Donald cried out, turned to run.  
  
Morton just stared at the laughing man. Who brought himself under control and told him one last thing.  
  
"I'm gonna leave London with a bloody bang friend. But you won't see it. Its ONLY for my DEAR cousin!"  
  
And on that, Morton's world became white as snow.  
  
  
And then Henry Morton knew no more. He had been right. It had all ended tonight.  
  
It was just not the end he would have wanted.  
  
________________________________________________  
  
Here it is, Chapter 23! Prepare yourselves, things are about to become nasty in Chapter 24! I hope you liked this one, however! ^_^  
  
Stay tuned for Chapter 24!  
  
Jeremy 


	28. Chapter 24

Will and Fate  
By Jeremy  
  
Chapter 24  
  
April 29, 1998  
  
The Blackburn Household lived in the Northeastern suburbs of London, in a house that, while not exactly rich or formidable-looking, did denote a measure of higher-than-average living. University teachers were well-paid people, and both the Blackburn parents were of that exact profession. Joan Claudius looked at the house, then at the young man standing next to her, looking at it with far more trepidation.  
  
"We really don't have to do this, you know." she said to him. "If you don't feel up to it yet, I'm sure that we could..."  
  
"Whether I'm up to it or not, I've got to speak to her, have her tell me her story. I wasn't there the first time around and you know the end result."  
  
Joan shook her head. It was typical of Jeremy to put more self-blame then was necessary, and he had been worse than usual ever since his cousin had appeared. He had been trying to help authorities find him, but had also been caught up in SCD work and, thus, hadn't been there when Laureen Blackburn had told Henry Morton where to possibly find Thomas and had unwittingly sent the inspector and his partner into a death trap that the psychopath had prepared for them. Jeremy had been angry both at the policemen for their negligence, at Thomas for his increasingly murderous schemes, and mostly at himself for not having put more attention to it all.  
  
But even with all he said, he knew it wasn't his fault. SCD had started to increase its rate of operations again, completely recovered from the Circle attack, and all teams had received more frequent assignments. Jeremy had been away in Toronto, Canada, when the two policemen had died in the explosion. He and Cammy had been successful, as always, but the elated feelings had not lasted long.  
  
They walked up the alley, and Joan rang the door. "Perhaps you should have brought Cammy instead of me, Jer."  
  
A slight shake. "No. You're much better at this than she, than any of us." a pause,then a slight smile "Besides, I want someone who will listen to her and understand her, not someone who'll worry over me."  
  
True. In the last few months, the relationship between the two professional SCD had blossomed into a full-blown romance that had finally involved a sexual relationship as well. It had been a relief for them to see these two do what they'd been wanting to for a while then, and she had been the first to admit it had done them both some good. They had been living in the same apartment for three weeks now, and they still drifted closer. No wonder he didn't want her along - this probably would jar the good feelings he'd had of his relationship if she came along.  
  
The door opened, and a burly, grey-haired man stood there looking at them with a very wary and saddened expression on his face. Robert Blackburn may not have been a prisoner to a psycho, but he and his wife had known that their daughter was, and had been through Hell and back because of it. It showed in the gaunt appearance on his face, but also in the stiffness of his voice as he talked.  
  
"She's in the living room, waiting for you." he said without preamble. "We were against it but she insisted, so we'll let you be for a while." his voice became fierce and protective, the voice of a father who'd just found his child back and wasn't going to let anyone hurt her again. "But if you go too far, I'll tell I'll boot the both of you out of this house without any hesitation." The man wasn't built very much, was rather wimpy-looking next to Jeremy's athletic body, but his eyes convinced Joan that he would find a way to do what he had said.  
  
"We understand, sir." said Jeremy respectfully, "Could we go now?"  
  
The man nodded, and led them to the living room, poking his head inside and speaking with the person inside in low, gentle tones. There was a soft answer on the other side, and the older man gestured that they could go in. They did so at once. They entered a nicely-furnished living room, with black sofas, paneled walls, television, a fireplace, and a large table upon which there was beautiful pot holding some artificial lilies. Paintings hung on the walls. A very quaint place indeed. On one of the sofas, a young woman with long brown hair was waiting for them with an expectant expression. Joan entered with a gentle smile, followed by Jeremy immediately after.  
  
The girl's eyes widened a bit as she saw him, a flash of fear contracting her features. It was there only a moment, but it was long enough for the both of them to see it. Rather uncomfortable, the young man gave an hesitant smile.  
  
"Hello." said Joan. "I'm Joan Claudius and this is..."  
  
"...Jeremy Storm." finished Laureen in a strong voice. "Yes, I can see that. I can see some resemblances, but also the differences. Besides, Tom told me - no, ranted - of him so often I already had a clear picture of him. Its nice to finally meet you."  
  
Jeremy nodded. "A pleasure as well." and then they sat. Joan entered into the heart of the matter directly.  
  
"Laureen, we're here to see if you could tell us what Thomas could do now, where he could go, the types of crimes he could commit."   
  
"At this point? If he lost it as much as I thought he would, then he could do anything to anyone." she paused, biting her lips "When he first...abducted me...he still had SOME grasp on reality, but that eroded quickly. It showed in the way he talked, in the way he moved. But mostly, it showed in the way he...I..." she stopped. Neither asked for more detail, they'd already read the files. Joan put a friendly hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Don't be ashamed of it. It wasn't your fault. No one will ever blame you for what happened. It wasn't your choice or your decision. I know, believe, how you feel?"  
  
"Do you?" the younger woman shot back fiercely "Have you ever been raped by a bloody monster?"  
  
Joan kept her face and voice gentle, steady. "Yes, Laureen. I was." she said softly, ignoring the startled look Jeremy gave her. "And I can promise you, the pain will fade over time. Just let things work as they will."  
  
Laureen bowed her head, and for long moment was silent. She was still more fragile than she let on, but was fighting to keep her control. This was a strong young lady. Joan was certain she would be back on her feet quickly enough. Oh, some things would always remain with her, but for the most part she would be her old self again.  
  
At last the girl spoke again. "Its going to be harder to forget, for me." she said cryptically. Both were confused, looking at each other and blinking. But then finally Jeremy got a worried, frantic look on his face, and moved a bit closer to the young woman.  
  
"Laureen, did he make you pregnant? Do you carry his child?" no answer "Please tell me, do you?"  
  
Laureen bowed her head again, not in shame this time, but seemingly in reflection, as if deciding what she should be saying. Finally she nodded. Joan bit her lips. Withchild, because of a rape. What could be worse? It was that more then anything else that made her understand Jeremy's deep hatred for his cousin. The man frowned, muttered dark things to himself, and then looked back at the woman.  
  
"What will you do with the babe?"  
  
Laureen raised her head, looked at him straight in the eye. "I'm going to keep him and raise him." she said. Jeremy frowned again, and she put her hands on her stomach as if to ward off any objections "Its not the baby's fault if his father did this to me. He'll have a good, sane life with me. And I'll love him, because it will be my child, not his!"  
  
Jeremy looked at her hard for long moments, then relaxed with a warm smile. He reached out and gave her a gentle, encouraging pat. "You've just gone very high indeed in my respect, miss." he said, friendly "You are right in your arguments, but it takes a strong person to stand by them." then he became more serious "But aside from that, do you have any clue on what my...DEAR...cousin could do? Anything you could remember would be helpful."  
  
She shook her head, gave a shuddering sigh. "He told me so many things. I'm sorry, but I really did my best not to hear them, lest I went insane myself. He hurt so many people. I-I just can't remember..."  
  
Joan decided it was time to book it. "That's all right. We're really sorry that we had to be a bother to you today, and we..."  
  
"However, there is something he told me so many times that I couldn't help but remember. A sentence."  
  
Jeremy leaned forward. "What was it? What did he say?"  
  
"He said...he said...I will save the Pure from betrayals and so my dear cousin will see the Truth revealed to him."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Three days later...  
  
There were few instances in Dhalsim's life when he'd been confused about something. Even in his youth, it had been a rare thing. Now that he was older, master of the advanced powers that his extensive Yoga training had unlocked within him, he had had himself thought him well-nigh impossible a feat. What arrogance he had had. All it took to prove his foolishness was child, a young man of not even twenty winters.  
  
The young man had come upon him, tired, lost and desperate for help. It had seemed that he was friend of Area, a young woman who showed great spirit, despite the fact she used revolutionary technologies to bring herself at the level of World Warriors. He had liked the young girl, and if only because of that, he had been willing to hear the boy out. But now, he wasn't sure about this Nathan McIntyre.  
  
He was an enigma to be sure. There was bitterness in his soul, and much anger. But there was also kindness, a desire to help. Fire and water. Love and hatred. An amalgam of feelings that contradicted each other. Dhalsim also felt a will that was incredibly strong, an unbreakable pillar that had supported this man through his ordeals. His will was probably what kept the man sane with all these inner conflicts. Still, as he listened to the young man's story, to his denial of being such an angry man, he found that there may be an explanation to his problem. He did feel the mind of a psychic here, but he had yet to define whom. It was something he had felt before, but where and from whom?  
  
"...and that is why I have come, sir Dhalsim." finished the young man in a tight voice. "If I cannot rid myself of my anger, Area leaves me. And if she leaves me, I die."   
  
"How strange your speech is, youth." Dhalsim told him calmly, sitting cross-legged in front him "You manage to both sound bold and cowardly, selfish and noble. You are a true enigma to me."  
  
"I suppose that I've always been strange, and that I'll always be that a bit. But there are a few things I am now certain about: that this anger is by no means a part of me, it just can't be, and that I love Area."  
  
A silence ensued. It lengthened until the American boy was squirming from the lace he was sitting. Youth. So impatient, so eager to get on with things when they are those who have the most time left to live in this world. He looked down at his necklace and touched the small skulls of the very young children who had once depended on him, children he had been unable to save. He was wrong again. Even children sometimes have little time in their lives, which probably made their energetic antics so endearing to older, wiser people.  
  
"I believe you. I believe you tell what you think is the truth, and even that it is mostly the truth." he paused "However, it is not completely the truth as you see it.  
  
Some people passed their way, making respectful bows to the Yoga Master and looking upon the white-skinned stranger with surprise and suspicion. They seemed to wonder why the great Dhalsim would lose his time with any non-Indians. As if races meant anything. Dhalsim had long found out that each race of Man was a part of a whole that birthed the same way, lived and loved the same way and died the same way. Skin color, facial features and cultures were just coverings hiding should that were brothers by and of themselves.  
  
The young man seemed puzzled. "Nothing, I think, can be an absolute truth, sir. But how am I wrong in this?"  
  
The late middle age Indian pondered this and his own word carefully - it would not do to rush things. "You are right to the fact that this LEVEL of anger is not yours. It is artificially created, and should be gone soon enough now that you no longer wish it to control you." the young man looked relived at these news, but stiffened again when Dhalsim added, in warning tone "But the base of it is truly yours, and that part will perhaps always be a part of you."  
  
The young man frowned, then nodded. "But you, the Yoga Master so renowned for his calm and wisdom, could you not help me find a way to...control it?"  
  
Dhalsim did not smile, but inwardly he felt pleased - anyone wishing to control their anger were stepping in the right direction. This boy might actually have a chance of mending his broken, sullen personality. He closed his eyes and sighed.  
  
"In each man there is a center, where calm and wisdom issue forth. The key to this center is through something that each man has good feelings about. I have my reasons, others have theirs and, so you certainly have yours. You simply ask yourself: what quells my anger, what brings me calm, and concentrate on it each time your feel the uncomfortable heat of anger inside of you. In time, you will learn to control it enough that your anger will be nothing to you, easily controllable."  
  
He could feel the younger man struggle to understand the principles behind the reasoning. Although very highly intelligent, this young man had focused his life on the rational, not the spiritual. But he was trying to understand, and that was very important. And he WANTED to do so, and that was crucial. He could see why Area had sent him - he was a lost soul, but not by any means one tainted by darkness. At length he opened his eyes to look at the boy, who was looking right back at him, his expression both sad and determined.  
  
"I...I'm not sure I COMPLETELY understand all this spiritual talk, sir. "he whispered "However, I will try my best to follow the advice you have given me, if only for Area's sake."  
  
"And yours, young one." he reminded. The boy nodded.  
  
"Certainly. But hers first. I never want to hurt her like I did ever again." the young man shot quick, embarrassed looks, seemingly wanting to ask him something, but somehow unable to. Dhalsim wondered if Nathan would ever speak, but he finally did, reluctantly. "Sir, I...I have favor to ask."  
  
Dhalsim frowned slightly. "And that is?"  
  
"Could you tell me....who is the psychic who did this to me?"  
  
Dhalsim sighed. He knew that this would come at some point, and had never wanted to have a talk about it. However, it seemed like he had no choice - a Yoga Master did not believe in veiled truths or lies. But he had to understand something about the boy before he answered. He did think he knew who had done such a thing - the more he felt the presence, the clearer its owner.  
  
"Why do you wish to know this? It will not help you calm this very anger you wish gone."  
  
"No, but it will allow me to focus the anger on the person who did this to me. Only on him, so that my dear Area, my parents and my friends will no have to endure it while I'm still in its thralls." he coughed "Its crude, but I think its better him then them."  
  
The aging man considered this and couldn't help but to recognized a certain amount of truth and wisdom in this, even though that would mean the anger would stay longer, since the young man will have a use for it. However, the reason was sufficient for him to tell the boy what he needed to know.  
  
"The man who did this to you," he said slowly "Is, I'm practically certain, the Circle man known as Kale. He is a very powerful psychic, chaotic, whimsical and with a strange, unnerving, vengeful personality."  
  
Nathan's expression was blank as he said this. "Kale...Circle. Heard those names before, but where? That was a while back, when..." understanding flooded through his face. "Yes, I remember the name! That's the name of a guy whom I helped stop once. That...bastard. Psychic, he? Well, he'll soon learn that technology is very powerful these days, and that there are few around better than me at it." he growled softly. "He'll get his own."  
  
Already the focus had shifted. The anger was redirected. This was a man with a goal, someone that he could hate without fear of being wrong. The man soon paid his respects to Dhalsim soon, and departed, his head already making plans to get even with a man who had wronged him. The old Yoga Master looked at the departing youth in both fear and relief. What an enigma. Such strong feelings. But such good intentions behind these feelings. A very strong man, despite his crippled appearance.  
  
A man who had every intention of using his will against the Circle, it seemed.  
  
Kale had unwittingly gained another enemy this day. And a very serious one at that. Such was the way it always was when one stroke at people in spite. They often reap vengeance and disaster.  
  
And this harvest was very ripe indeed.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Two days later...  
  
Rose was walking back the distance between her house and the market where she'd done a little shopping, humming a tune that she had heard previously and seemed stuck into her mind. It was a lifting tune, a romantic tune, and she had liked the sympathetic undertone. What was more, it was the best kind of personal companion when walking back to one's home. She was in a good mood today. She'd visited the local orphanage and had told the smallest children there a story, silently rejoicing to be able to put some joy on these normally quiet faces. And then there'd been an encounter with another psychic she knew and got along well, and they'd had a nice chat that had lasted many hours. And then she'd found every thing she needed at the market.  
  
Yes, it was a nice day for her.  
  
She made her way to her house, absent-mindedly admiring the trees and the burgeoning leaves. Life was taking hold again, firmly,and the land around her was becoming green and beautiful again. It was at these time that she truly felt alive, not some lonely psychic that always had to help out others.  
  
"Hello, miss Rose!" squeaked a little voice beside her. Rose looked down and spotted little Emilio, the five year old boy of her neighbor. Chubby and cheerful, he was grinning at her with abandon. She couldn't help but return it.  
  
"Why hello, Emilio." she said lightly, continuing up the rod to her own mansion. The little boy followed, as she knew he would. "What have you done today?"  
  
"Daddy and I went biking today!" the child chirped happily.  
  
"Is that so? That's very nice!"  
  
"Yeah! Dad said he had work, but he found the time to go out and play!" he seemed to think that that was something, and truly it was. During the weeks, few fathers took much time with their children because of work. She thought about the little children Emilio's age, back at the orphanage. They would never really have someone who looked after them in a way that showed they were more important than anything, no one to scold them, to teach them, to take care of them. Emilio was lucky, but might never realize it.  
  
It was in that frame of mind that her power encountered another. She felt it curiously, and recognized it easily enough. She stopped in front of the slender gates that closed the wall around her residence. She forced back some cheer and looked back at the child.  
  
"Well, I have to go now. I'll come visit tomorrow, all right?" The child might not have accepted so easily, but she used a small bit of her powers to convince his mind. She hated it, but it was for the best for him.  
  
"Okay! Bye!" said the child, who happily skipped away. She watched him got with a bitter sweet smile, then entered her home gates, her face turning deadly serious, even sour. She walked a few steps inside, then put her market bag down. She then raised herself calmly, but dangerously.  
  
"Show yourself, Shadow-Walker." she stated coldly "I feel your presence here and it highly displeases me. You have five breaths to show yourself or I will rip you out of your hiding place with no effort."  
  
There was a moment of silence, and then a man appeared out of shadows, a few meter off to the her left. It was indeed Everick, dressed in his usual all-black attire, a very serious look on his face. He seemed not too happy to be there, and she could understand why - no one from the Circle was welcome anywhere near her. He was probably one of the few with enough courage to dare it, especially after the last time.  
  
"You are as direct as ever, madam." the man said politely, with a slight bow "Always ready to make things clear for everyone."  
  
"Obviously I have failed with the Elders," she said icily, "I thought I had made things clear: I do not want any of you near me - ever! Now why would you take such a chance, Everick?"  
  
The man shrugged. "I do my duty. And it is this: Stay out of the MI6-Circle conflict, or face the Conclave."  
  
Rose actually laughed aloud at that. "The Conclave!" she cried "The Conclave has no power over me, no power at all! They live because they were intelligent enough to let me find my sister's murderer before I hunted them. Why would I follow what the Conclave has to say?"  
  
"Would the lives of those in the orphanage be enough?"  
  
She stopped cold, looking at Everick with eyes that were becoming narrowed and dangerous. Her demeanor, however, was calm - the calm before the storm.   
  
"What...did you...say?' she hissed. Everick seemed unfazed, but she could feel the underlying current of nervousness in him now.   
  
He coughed. "You must stay out of the MI6-Circle matters, or the Circle will be forced to terminate the children living inside the orphanage." he paused "That would be an unfortunate developement, so I suggest..." he trailed off.  
  
Rose's eyes were now furious, glowing with power. Her slender hands were clenched, and all around her the faint ozone odor and crackles of psychic powers were showing themselves. Her lips were tightly clamped together, and her face was taut with tension.  
  
"You dare threaten innocents?" she growled, and then her voice became a shouting gale, a furious force by itself. "YOU DARE COME HERE TO THREATEN ME?!? YOU FOOLS!!!" And she lashed out with her powers, catching the younger man fully, pulling him of his feet and to the side. Quickly, very quickly, until he smashed into the side of the outer wall. He groaned as he did, but rolled back and up as soon as he hit the ground. He took a fighting stance.  
  
"Be reasonable madam, the children..." And with that he was smashed against the wall, hard. Her power held him there. He struggled with his own powers, but they were puny compared to hers, and she easily shrugged them off.  
  
"The children, "she hissed, "Are not to be touched. Not by you or by anyone! Anyone who hurts them will have to face me, and I can ASSURE you that NO ONE wants a confrontation with me!"  
  
Everick managed to lift his arms, and instantly she was surrounded by dark shadows formed of negative energy. Although she at first groaned from the pain, her psychic defenses came on and deflected the worst of the desperate negative attack. She lifted her arm, concentrated her mind energies on it, and slashed through. The darkness immediately shattered like so much glass. She smiled dangerously at the trapped man.  
  
"You forget your attacks do not work on people with my level of power, Everick. It seems that you need the reminder." She started to intensify the psychic weight on him. At that moment, she wasn't absolutely certain that she wasn't going to kill him, for daring to make such blatant threats, to use innocents again her to force into a position that was her own to take! If it had been Kale, there would have been no contest - he'd be dead right here and now. However, she knew Everick still possessed some shred of compassion and decency. Amongst those of the Circle, it had always been very rare indeed, she knew painfully well. Could she kill a man who could still be redeemed, no matter how slight the chance. She stood for a moment, undecided.  
  
Then she sighed, and let go of the power that was holding the black-garbed man up. He crumbled to the ground, gasping, barely able to do more than sit up. She crouched next to him, her face still fierce, still furious.  
  
"Take this message to your Conclave, Shadow-Walker: I do not bow down in front of threats. My fate and my decisions are SOLELY my own, and any blackmail like the one you tried will be met with deadly reprisal. You have all that?  
  
"I...cough...I do, but the Conclave might not agree."  
  
She snorted disdainfully. "Let the Elders think what they wish! They have never been my concern. Now remove yourself from my presence before I reconsider treating you as kindly as I have!"  
  
He did not need to be told twice. Totally humiliated and humbled, Everick gathered his shadows and disappeared from sight. A few moments more, and his presence was gone as well. She took a deep breath then, and stood up. Quickly she retrieved her shopping bag and walked briskly back to her house. She needed to talk to some of the others.  
  
The Circle had ordered her sister killed. And that she had not forgotten, nor forgiven. But she had held from going against them directly yet.  
  
But it seemed the Circle needed to be shown that she wasn't a threat to be dismissed so easily...  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Four days later...  
  
The citizens of London were making their way across and on the street, whether by walking, bicycles or cars, going about their daily lives with rarely a greater care than whether they should eat out or at home tonight, or if the car's transistors and mufflers needed so fixing. Ordinary thoughts in organized, ordinary lives. These people were content with their lot and rarely looked for excitement or justice in their existence. They just were.  
  
Thomas Storm despised them for it.  
  
Ever since Laureen had chosen to flee from him, he had completely let go of his hopes for humanity. The race that had spawned him was blind to the harsh realities of life, couldn't see the Truth that the Pure were in danger, that they would be corrupted by betrayal, become Betrayers. Like all of those around him. All the adults. All of them.  
  
It had come to him in a flash - only young children were Pure, untainted by hatred and by betrayal. He'd been wrong to think any adult or teenager was, for they all had some sin that they were guilty of. Including him. Oh yes, including him more than most. However, tonight he wasn't about to leave it at that. Tonight he would find a way to spare some lives of the darkness that this world gave upon mortals. It would be hard but, at the same time oh so delicious to do! And so very RIGHT!  
  
He did not remember why he had once believe he could save people from it by his actions - he must have been crazy to think like this! He knew that he had deluded himself, or perhaps it was the world itself that had wanted to delude him. Well, it wasn't working anymore! He would see things through this time. And Jeremy would see his vision in all of its Glory...  
  
Jeremy.  
  
He wondered why the man had truly become his archnemesis. The man had tried to kill him for no good reason, that was true, the man had been one of the direct causes he had been caught and put inside an asylum, true. But why was it so important that Jeremy knew, that he suffered the consequences of Thomas's own actions. It had taken him days to think this through. And when he had, the answer that presented itself had been simple, simpler than he could have believed.  
  
He had believed in him.  
  
He had believed that his cousin knew the Truth, that he would stand beside him, and so he had given him the chance to do what was right, But he had been weak, attached to the foolish morals of this world, and had turned his back on him. He had then known that they were opposites, even if he had initially blamed the stupid girl Jer had been infatuated with. His cousin had willfully turned his back.  
  
That was why he had to know what would happen today. Thomas knew there had to be a final reckoning between them. And that it had to be soon.  
  
He would arrange it so.  
  
He arrived at the place that was his ultimate destination, and read the sign. "Shelley's Kid Korner." A small kindergarten, with only two staff members and about a dozen of children. A small enterprise, full of love and sympathy. The perfect place for he to make his point to his foolish cousin. Without preamble, hefting the package he had prepared for the occasion, he knocked on the door and waited.  
  
He did not have to wait long. Within a few moments, the door opened, and a tired-looking lady appeared, wearing a small smile. She looked easily over thirty, and probably felt older right then. Still, she struggled to give him a cheerful welcome, and he returned it jovially.  
  
"What can I do for you, sir?" she asked.  
  
He smiled. "Oh, not much in fact, madam." he said quietly. He showed the package to her. "I simply found this here and I wonder if this belongs to any of you?"  
  
She looked at it, then shook her head. "I really don't think so. But let me look at it." She opened the door and looked at it. "I don't remember anything that was wrapped up like this. Angela certainly doesn't say about something like this. Sorry, but I think it's been left here by someone who didn't know what to do with something."  
  
Thomas nodded his head. Then he sighed. "I suppose you're right. It was stupid to think any of you left that up front." he paused, his head bowed a little. "Madam, I have only one last thing to say about this, then..."  
  
"And that is?" she asked curiously, pleasantly.  
  
He raised his head, towered over her and gave a very friendly, very warm smile. "It was awfully nice knowing you." he said pleasantly, and flung the package up like a club. She was uncounscious even before she hit the floor, for the contents of the package in question were heavy. He entered and closed the door behind him. And then, without pause, brought his foot down on the woman's throat. There was a wet., crushing noise as he broke her neck, but he had no time to dwell on the thrill it gave him. He took the body under one arm, opened a side door, and flung it inside. He then went back to open the front door, then went to hide beside the body. He looked at her with a smirk.  
  
"Hey, there, no sleeping on the job." he almost laughed at his own joke. Then he heard another voice, also female. Lighter, younger, probably that Angela this one had talked about.  
  
"Shelley? Who was it. You better come up, the kids went you to play a game with them!" she hesitated as she heard no response. "Shelley?"  
  
She then stopped. She must have spotted the open front door and was probably what the hell is Shelley doing outside and why hadn't she closed the door. He wondered if she would be careful or not, then heard her easy footsteps. Not careful. Perfect. He waited until the footsteps had passed the door, then opened it swiftly, coming up behind the woman.  
  
She felt him at the last moment, and started to turn just as he gathered what chi he could. "Oh, Shelley, I thought that you'd..."  
  
She didn't get anymore out, as his fist found her face, breaking her nose and her neck at the same time. She stayed upright for a moment, and then slumped down. He caught her and put her with the other body. He checked his watch. Mmm. Jeremy and that new girl of his should be coming back from work in about ten minutes. He found a phone on a table - obviously this was some kind of 'office' - and composed a number he had learned by heart. He waited until it rang for the fourth time, and the message was heard. It was a female voice.  
  
"You've reached the residence of Cammy White and Jeremy Storm. We are not home right now, so please leave us a message or your phone number and we will call you as soon as we are able to. Thank you!" And then there was a beeping sound.  
  
"Hello, Jer. Its Tom," he said airily. "You might want to come to Sheley's Kid Korner - you find the address soon enough. Just so you know, I'm going to kill everyone here. Remember what Laureen said. As for you, after this, I'll be waiting for you in five days, where it all began. Ciao!" he hung up satisfied. He then went to see the kids. When he appeared, with a wide smile, they wondered who he was and asked him.  
  
"Me? Just Tom. I'm here to replace Angela and Shelley a few minutes." he leaned toward the kids. "Do you kids want a play a very noisy, exciting game?" he said conspirationally.  
  
Cheers and nods. He nodded at them. It was time to do what he was here to do. They were innocents. They had to be protected from this world. He went to the office, undid the package. Inside it was a big, steel axe, perfect for woodcutting. He took it easily in one hand, then made his way back. Before he entered the playroom, he called again.  
  
"All right, kids! We're about to begin! Are you ready?" he asked with a very friendly air.  
  
"Yeah!" a young voice cried out. Others soon took up the cry. He smiled a sad smile. This was for the best. This was for them. He hefted his axe.  
  
And entered the playroom.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Forty-five minutes later...  
  
Since the time Melissa had died four years ago, Jeremy had seen a lot of horrible things. Wounds, rapes, deaths. He'd managed to put all of those behind them, because either there was nothing he could have done, or because it had been part of the job - kill or be killed. There had been equal chances. He had been able to handle those sights, to put them far back in his head, so much that they no longer hurt, were simply unpleasant.  
  
But for this, FOR THIS...  
  
He looked around, at the policemen who were taking pictures, tagging items. Few of them didn't have a greenish, sick face. And those who did not still looked utterly disgusted, angry. The job they had to do today was probably the worst they had ever done, and many certainly hoped they would NEVER have to do such a business again as long as they lived.  
  
Blood. There was blood everywhere. Blood that had poured out little bodies of children, staining the walls, pooling on the floor, amidst broken dolls that had been alive only moments before. The children had been found in different places, some in the same spot - probably the first ones - some near the windows, some near the doors. They must have tried to flee, only to find there was no escape. Not from him. He could hear their screams in his mind, their terror, their hopelessness, their pleading. Nothing of the sort had stopped the...the THING that had killed them.  
  
God, they must have died so scared, so scared...  
  
He looked as some policemen lifted on last white-covered bundle. He saw their grieving face, their helplessness, their hatred for whoever had done this. He knew who. Knew it well. Had GROWN UP with that monster, been blind as the boy beside him lost his mind little by little, nearly killing a friend, killing the girl he loved and so many others. And when he had had the opportunity to kill that bastard, he'd been stopped, but had also stopped himself, swayed by ethics and moral codes.  
  
What a fool he had been. If he had known what would happen later on, he would have beaten the guy to death without so much as a care. Something on his conscience, but more people alive because his actions. But he had stopped. He had stopped. And nothing could erase the thought that, because he had let Tom live, he was at least partly responsible for all that had followed. He would live it down, he supposed, but only after a long while.  
  
A strong, slender hand touched his arm, and he looked to see Cammy looking at the ghastly scenery with a pale, disbelieving face. They called the police as soon as they'd heard the message, and then had rushed to the place, only to find that they were much too late. Everyone was dead. The adults, neck broken, the children, in bloody pieces. And they'd both seen the message, written in blood, on one of the walls.  
  
REMEMBER J  
  
He would remember. How could he ever forget such a scene?  
  
"I should have killed him, Cammy." he said "I should have killed him years ago. And then none of this would have happened.  
  
She shook her head. "You couldn't have known, Jer. How could ANYONE have known? You did the right thing back then."  
  
"I've got at least twenty bodies telling me otherwise, my love. Its a hard fact against me, don't you think so?"  
  
The braided woman looked at him seriously for a moment, studying him. Their relationship had grown since that night in Venice. They now lived together as couples did, bickering, eating, joking around, making love. There were times he could easily tell what went through her mind and so could she, and it wasn't because of their strange, dormant psychic link. And right now she looked at him, and seemed to read right through him. At length she gave a long sigh, and touched his face lightly.  
  
"My Jeremy." she said seriously yet fondly. "Always ready to take responsibility for another's act. How stupid you can be sometimes, but I guess its part of the reason I love you so much, this way you have of taking responsibility." She pulled him away, toward the front door. "Come on, we've seen more than enough of this."  
  
He gave one last look around, then looked away. "Yes, I think we have." he whispered as he let himself be led away.  
  
As they came out, they heard a howl. No, not a how, he realize. Multiple wails, sobs and cries. He looked around to see many couple clutching each other, their pain evident even in the distance. The parents, some looking barely older than he was. They had broken, haunted looks about them, and most of them were crying with abandon. Their little boy or girl, whom they had seen walk and talk and had meant so much to them, he or she had been killed. Who wouldn't feel maddened by grief, in this case?  
  
He recalled what Laureen had said: "I will save the Pure from betrayals and so my dear cousin will see the Truth revealed to him." The truth. Oh, he saw the truth. He saw that his 'dear cousin' had just lost every bit of humanity inside of him. He understood that there was a monster in his place now, not a human. Someone who did something like this could never be a human. Never.  
  
It was at this moment that he felt it. The anger. The anger that he had been trying so hard to control for the last four years. It was raging inside of him, raging like the time he'd seen Melissa's broken, bloody body. He had lost it then. He was losing it now. Still he maintained control. Still he held off. There was only one way to rid himself of this rage, he knew. It was a rough path, and one that led directly through Thomas Storm.  
  
He turned to Cammy. "It seems I'm gonna make a another small trip back to my hometown, Cammy." he said "I know where 'it' all began. I'll go to that place and end it."  
  
She nodded. "Vendetta then. Julia won't have the choice but to agree. I suppose we can get there by the time he wants us."  
  
"ME. He wants ME, Cammy. Not you, not Nathan, not anyone else. If I'm going I'm going alone. I started this off alone and will finish this alone."  
  
She looked surprised, than more than a little angry. "What are you talking about?!?" she growled "You think I'm gonna let you walk in and tangle with someone so monstrous without backup? You've got to be kidding me!"  
  
"Its BECAUSE of this that I'm going alone!" he shot back fiercely "Its got to end, and if it ends badly for me, I don't want to drag anybody else along!"  
  
Cammy's face went from red and angry to pale and hurt. She looked so stricken that he almost looked away. But he didn't she had to stay. She wasn't involved in this. She should stay where it was safe. It might have been selfish, but it was the way he saw it.  
  
"You're asking me to let you go?" she asked "You can go to Hell if that's it, cuz you never let me go. I owe you and I intend to help!" she crossed her arms. Jeremy sighed. Then he looked around, at the weeping parents, at the sickened policemen, at the wate of young lives. He gritted his teeth.  
  
"We'll meet soon enough, Tom." he hissed for himself. "You and I, we'll settle this. You have a fucking lot to answer for."  
  
A deep breath.  
  
"And you'll answer for it all. I swear it!"  
  
_____________________________________________  
  
Here we go! The chap before the meeting of the cousins! I'll try my best for 25, especially since I made a lil challenge with myself and Eliad! Well, we'll see what it will bring! ^_^  
  
Anyway, stay tuned for chapter 25!  
  
Jeremy 


End file.
